


The Nascent Diplomat

by not_poignant



Series: The Lone Wolf [3]
Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Original Work
Genre: A difficult father-son relationship, Angst, BDSM, Childhood Trauma, Compulsion, Culture Shock, Developing Relationship, Diplomacy, Dominance and Submission, Dubious Consent, Fae Realm, Fae politics, Handfeeding, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, M/M, Mind Games, New Cultures, Orgies, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Polyamory, Romance, Sign Language, Skin Hunger, Slow Burn, Trauma Recovery, Unseelie Fae, fae and fairytales, temporary eye injury, touch starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant
Summary: Augus is summoned by the Unseelie King of the fae to test out his hand at being a diplomat with a secretive, cave-dwelling race of fae known as the vench. He is sent to the remote region of Aethelwaters to strike up a trade deal, with the King's Mage and executioner - Gwyn ap Nudd - as his bodyguard. They come face to face with a closed culture largely unreceptive to newcomers, initiations to test their merit, an unusual way of feeding, and pitfalls and traps at every turn. Will it drive the shaky foundation between Gwyn and Augus further apart? Or bring them together?Part 3 ofthe Lone Wolf series.
Relationships: Gwyn ap Nudd/Augus Each Uisge
Series: The Lone Wolf [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607251
Comments: 313
Kudos: 292





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! The third (and probably final) installment of The Lone Wolf series! This is the big one, and I expect this to be a fairly lengthy story. I've had a ton of fun worldbuilding for the vench in particular, but you won't get to start seeing that until chapter 2. I haven't selected any warnings yet, but I've added dubious consent just in case and will add warnings if/as necessary. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get to use sex pollen in this one. *grins*
> 
> Please enjoy!

_Gwyn_

*

Almost eight months had passed, the next time Gwyn saw Augus. He’d been going out of his way to avoid the waterhorse, making sure to be absent from any public events where he might be invited, and speaking evasively whenever the Raven Prince brought him up, which wasn’t as often as Gwyn expected. He spent his time studying magic, hunting or walking in the woods, avoiding as much politicking as he could reasonably avoid, feeding on fae when he wanted to, and he spent almost no time at all thinking about Oxcillian.

He was very practiced at avoiding Oxcillian and all thoughts of him.

He also didn’t think about Augus too often. Or, more accurately, he tried not to and failed. He remembered hands on his hands so often that he sometimes caught himself holding one of his hands in the other, following the movements that Augus had made. He could find the scar tissue now himself if he looked for it. He’d not expected the Each Uisge to show him something new about his body, and resented that he had.

He thought about Augus ordering him to undress, and then putting the rest of the costume on him, impersonal and yet so threatening all the same. Gwyn had never been able to put to rest the image of being attacked by him. And in the end, Augus hadn’t attacked him physically, but had still threatened him with knowledge. Too sharp for his own good. Sharper, even, than the Raven Prince on certain matters.

That made terror bloom in Gwyn’s chest. He needed the Raven Prince to not know _anything_ , and if Augus could figure it out, surely the King could too? Surely?

But then maybe not, with what he knew of the Raven Prince. The fae’s greatest weakness, beyond that he yoked himself to the Unseelie Court, was that he knew nothing of carnality and was blind to many aspects of it. One of the few things about the Raven Prince that Gwyn actually appreciated.

Now, eight months later, Gwyn responded to a direct summons from the Raven Prince, walked into his principle office – a mess of papers and books and quills and ink and the reek of old inks gone rancid and never cleaned away – and stilled when he saw Augus Each Uisge already sitting in the upholstered chair that Gwyn usually sat in. He looked just as uncomfortable to be there as Gwyn was to see him there.

 _More schemes,_ he thought with some disgust. It was possible Augus hated them even more than Gwyn did, and Augus had never had _his_ hands burned away by the Mage of Light because of them.

‘And here you are, late as usual,’ the Raven Prince said, a sharp acknowledgement on his face.

‘If you wanted someone punctual, you could have summoned them instead.’

‘Talking back already? That bodes well. Be careful how you use your language around me. We have _guests.’_

‘Yes, _Your Majesty,’_ Gwyn said, sitting down in the other chair and ignoring Augus’ eyes on him. He sensed that Augus was shocked at the way Gwyn spoke to the Raven Prince and he didn’t care. He loved his King. But he hated him too. And when Gwyn was walking into a scheme, he hated him _most._

‘Now that you’re both here, let’s talk about the nature of our business together, shall we not?’

Augus tensed. Maybe he thought he tensed subtly, but if Gwyn noticed it, then the Raven Prince certainly did.

‘There is a species of Unseelie fae in the far reaches of Aethelwaters, who have access to some of the best underground mines for specific minerals that I’m seeking. They charge extortionate prices and have refused a direct trade alignment for thousands of years. On top of that, they go to war miserably often.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’ve heard of the vench. An unusual number of them are born with magic.’

‘They almost never train it beyond folk magic,’ the Raven Prince said. ‘But yes, they are born with it. They don’t like me much, because I’m a shifter of the air, and they are of the water and the earth. They don’t like Mages much, because – to put it bluntly – they’ve been slaughtered throughout their history for not attending the School of the Staff and showing no interest in it, to the point of rudeness and disrespect.’

‘Of course,’ Gwyn said, rolling his eyes. He’d had to sign a binding document himself stating that if he ever saw a fae of any kind wearing a Mage’s motley, who wasn’t a Master Mage, he was to kill them outright without waiting for any excuse. It wasn’t as damaging as a blood oath, and Gwyn was somewhat grateful to not have encountered any false Mages who would dare wear a false motley.

Other Master Mages enjoyed punitively killing anyone who didn’t ‘respect’ magic enough.

‘I think they’re receptive to a trade deal, if the right fae was to approach them.’ The Raven Prince turned now to Augus and tilted his head. ‘You’ve never been a diplomat, have you?’

‘No, Your Majesty.’

‘Well, surely you understand what some of your training sessions have been leading towards, the past few months.’

Augus inclined his head, and Gwyn stared fixedly at the floor and realised that he’d been ignorant, and chosen to be ignorant. He thought that the Raven Prince was only inviting Augus to be decorative, that he wouldn’t escalate his plans immediately after the Masque. He’d been wrong, and all this time, the Raven Prince had never bothered to tell him the truth. He wanted to take a deep breath, wanted to express his exasperation, but his body was on lockdown around the Raven Prince. He breathed normally. He reacted normally. Aside from his unblinking stare, which was a common enough reaction from him that it could be attributed to nearly anything at all.

‘Gwyn is here to take you to Aethelwaters via teleportation, any other method of travel is too tedious, and then he will accompany you as bodyguard and protector while you deal with them. Over the next few days I will teach you what I know of the vench, but otherwise you will both be on your own. They know to expect you within the week.’

Augus’ breathing shifted, was faster for a few moments, and then seemed to settle again. He wisely didn’t say anything at all and Gwyn respected him for it.

But Gwyn had no patience with wisdom.

‘Augus is not a diplomat,’ Gwyn said sharply. ‘He is a torturer. What exactly do you want him to do with the vench? If you want someone with compulsions, you could just-’

The Raven Prince held up one finger and Gwyn fell silent immediately, not just from the command itself, but from the knowledge that it was similar to the gesture the Raven Prince made when he was about to steal someone’s voice.

‘I had thought that you would have overcome your biases after the Masque,’ the Raven Prince said with mock-sadness. ‘Are you incapable of learning anything at all? What Augus does in his spare time is none of your business, but he has proven himself diplomatic in nature again and again, and a waterhorse understands water fae better than we do, and will be well tolerated in those caves.’

‘I fail to see-’

The Raven Prince flicked his index finger and a sudden, abrupt blackness ascended painfully over Gwyn’s vision. He stilled, blinking rapidly, schooling his alarm.

The blindness was temporary, and it was a lesson. His hands closed on the wooden armrests on his chair and he forced himself to breathe slowly, frustrated that Augus had likely picked up on his brief moment of panic. Annoyed that the Raven Prince was already this intolerant to any dissent. No room for movement. This was something they’d have to do, and they’d have to try and do it well.

Gwyn didn’t want to escort Augus anywhere. He didn’t want to be his bodyguard or his protector, it meant he had to focus on someone else and what they were doing and he loathed the work and the lack of freedom. And Augus _knew_ things about him that Gwyn didn’t want anyone to know. He didn’t want to be around him.

‘Then you can spend the next few minutes failing to see anything at all,’ the Raven Prince said, ‘and maybe a lateral form of knowledge will come to you instead.’

Augus sucked in a breath and must have realised what had happened, and Gwyn forced himself to relax in the chair – as much as he could relax – and stare ahead into the velvety depths of blackness. His senses were still sharp, and the Raven Prince hadn’t taken his language. He was annoyed with Gwyn, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

‘With all due respect, Your Majesty,’ Gwyn said, ‘you must not care very much about this going well, if you’re sending the both of us into Aethelwaters. Augus is untested, and my reputation precedes me.’

‘On the contrary,’ the Raven Prince said, and his voice by some miracle wasn’t as sharp as before. ‘I’m not saying it won’t be difficult, they do not look favourably on the School of the Staff, but you’re not one of the School’s teachers and I think sending you as an obedient bodyguard will make them realise that Master Mages can be trained to be subservient.’

Gwyn would have rolled his eyes at that.

‘Gwyn, you are not to direct the proceedings. The diplomacy and all choices regarding it fall solely to Augus. You can observe, and you can learn their culture and their language, but if I hear tell that you sought to interfere in the diplomatic proceedings at all, I will be angry. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes.’

‘As for Augus Each Uisge, he may be untested, but he has a knack for it.’ The Raven Prince turned slightly. ‘I suspect you developed it while convincing all of these fae that you have a right to torture them?’

‘That may be so,’ Augus said, absolutely nothing in his voice at all. Gwyn knew that if he’d said something so provocative, Augus would have been offended about how his vocation was being construed, but he hid that offense from the King. Gwyn reluctantly conceded – even from what he knew of how Augus had been with him – that Augus _might_ be marginally good at diplomacy, if he put his mind to it. But interacting with one person was different to interacting with an entire political party, whose best interests were to keep their profits and their privacy.

‘There are more details to share, but I think we’re done with you for now, Gwyn. You can excuse yourself.’

Gwyn took a slow breath and wondered if the Raven Prince had forgotten what he’d done to Gwyn’s sight. After a moment he took his staff where he’d leaned it against the chair and stood, not wishing to make a fool of himself, frustrated. He could undo the Raven Prince’s magic, but he’d need time, and it tended to be painful.

He felt his chair, tapped it with the cane, and then carefully extended the cane to Augus’ chair so he could feel that out without knocking Augus’ legs. Once he had an idea of where both of those were, his senses were able to orient to the room itself. He was grateful for his anchored sense of direction, far more developed than most of the fae he’d ever met.

Using his staff as a cane, he let himself out of the door and closed it behind him, and then took a short, angry breath. He didn’t like being humiliated in general, but he hated when it happened in front of Augus.

Reaching for his teleportation, he sensed out his room and knew he’d moved none of the furniture since he’d departed, so he landed safely by his bed. He waved his staff before his eyes to sense out the Raven Prince’s magic. He felt a painful twang behind his eyes, deep in the nerves, and cursed aloud. Not an illusion, an actual block. The Raven Prince had been more wroth with him than Gwyn had assumed, and the Raven Prince wasn’t given to yelling, so he made his point in other ways.

Gwyn reached out with a hand until he could sit down on his bed, and then he placed his staff between his legs, gripping it with his knees while its point touched the ground. He pressed his fingertips to his eyebrows, and then to the corners of both eyes, and finally closed his lids and pressed his fingers directly to his eyes and quested out with his magic.

A twinned flash of agony, and he gritted his teeth in response, eyes immediately tearing. It was tempting to fall back onto the bed but he needed to ground the staff into the earth to pull the energy he needed. This kind of magic wasn’t innate, so he needed another cipher to bolster what he was doing.

It took several more minutes to figure out where the blockage was, and then another two minutes of delicate magical probing to unblock them. The delicacy was sharply contrasted by the pain that split through his head, throbbing like melting wax behind his eyes until he nearly screamed from it, biting off sounds behind his gritted teeth. But he had to work slowly. The block was physical, if he made a mistake the resulting damage would be physical. What kept him going was sensing the light behind his eyelids as he began to lift the blindness from himself.

Eventually he was able to remove both blockages, and he opened his tear-blurred eyes once to check that it had worked. He made a weak sound of relief and flopped back onto his bed, gasping for breath and furious.

A minute later he pointed his staff at the wall and blew a hole in the wall with his light. It had been years since he’d been so outraged, but he didn’t like the way the Raven Prince kept trying to lead him directly into Augus’ path. He didn’t like any of this.

*

Two hours later, the Raven Prince teleported directly into his room, the stink of bird and musk in the air.

‘Oh?’ the Raven Prince said. ‘You’re angry with me too, then, are you? Are you going to leave this for the servants to fix?’

‘Given it’s not my _home,_ I don’t think it much matters what you do with this room once I’m gallivanting across Aethelwaters with the Each Uisge.’

The Raven Prince was silent for a long time. Long enough that Gwyn almost opened his eyes to look at him, but he resisted the urge. Sometimes that was all his King waited for, and Gwyn didn’t want to give him what he wanted, even as he ached for the Raven Prince to be happy and pleased with him.

It seemed increasingly impossible, the older he got.

The Raven Prince took several steps closer, and Gwyn flinched, and the Raven Prince stopped moving.

‘I thought the two of you had an accord. Yet you react like I’m partnering you with your worst enemy on this assignment. Has he been untoward?’

‘No.’

‘I care not if you both mistrust me, for that is ever the way of things, but tell me truly, Gwyn ap Nudd, does this creature who managed to dress you in fineries you rejected from everyone else, turn your stomach so?’

‘No.’

‘You’re lying to me.’

‘Then I’m lying to you,’ Gwyn said tiredly. ‘I dislike the assignment. That is all.’

‘I would have come to remove the blocks from your sight myself. It wouldn’t have hurt.’

‘You knew I would remove them myself.’

The Raven Prince was silent for a time, then sighed. A moment later, Gwyn was surprised to feel the mattress shift as the Raven Prince sat beside him. He flinched again when he felt fingers upon his forehead. And then the Raven Prince’s magic, not a threat this time, but warm and careful. Gwyn shuddered heavily. The Raven Prince touched him so rarely, but he was too fastidious not to check for himself how thorough Gwyn had been.

‘You did a good job on this one,’ the Raven Prince said, indicating his right eye with a slight touch. ‘But the left leaves much to be desired.’

The feeling of something oozing away that didn’t hurt at all, and it unwound the worst of the tension headache that had been building in Gwyn’s head. He sagged back further, his shoulders relaxing. All too soon, the Raven Prince removed his magic and his touch, and Gwyn felt terribly alone even though his King was right there.

‘You grow angrier with me over time, not less,’ the Raven Prince said. ‘You may not believe me when I say that I’m trying, Gwyn ap Nudd, but I do not enjoy when you look upon me with as mean a spirit as you do.’

Gwyn laughed bitterly, and the Raven Prince said nothing. ‘I am your loyal subject, I will do whatever you wish me to do. Isn’t that all you wanted? I am your Mage and your dog and your creature to send about when you wish not to do such work yourself. And I do it all. What more do you want from me? That I should grovel at your feet for the privilege?’

The Raven Prince was silent for a long time, and then he stood, and then seconds later he teleported from the room. Gwyn laid there, contemplating the truth of it; he and the Raven Prince grew increasingly at odds over time, and it wasn’t as simple as them not always seeing eye to eye on matters. But he didn’t know how to stop his own suspicion and anger, and he didn’t know where it came from, and he didn’t want to spend however long on a diplomatic assignment with an Each Uisge that seemed to see directly into his soul whenever they met.

A pall simmered heavily in the room. The Raven Prince was disappointed in him, but also melancholic, and Gwyn hated it. He hated that he couldn’t fix it, he hated that he couldn’t please him the way he used to. As years passed, the shape of him grew more caustic, more callous, and he had less patience for the people around him.

He turned to his side and reached for his staff, looking about the room, grateful for his vision.

A knock at the door startled him, and he stood, expecting some servant to be there, expecting the Raven Prince to have already notified someone to fix his mess.

Instead, it was Augus.

‘Let me in,’ Augus said, an imperiousness in his voice that had Gwyn stepping back automatically, before he scowled and shut the door after him. ‘What did he do to your eyes? Let me look.’

‘They’re fine,’ Gwyn said, stepping back when Augus walked towards him. And then when Augus didn’t stop, he held out his staff, staring at him in shock. ‘It’s none of your business what he did. And I fixed it.’

_And the Raven Prince fixed the rest. And he touched me. And he was tender and he had no reason to be._

‘He doesn’t just take your language from you when he feels like it, but your sight too. What else? Your hearing? Your ability to touch? I thought he could only work through language.’

Gwyn stared in shock, and then gripped his staff tighter. ‘He’s the _Raven Prince,_ he can do anything he damn well pleases. His innate magic rests in language, but he knows far more than that. He could turn me into a mouse, if he wanted to.’

_‘Has he?’_

‘Are you angry at him?’ Gwyn said, refusing to back up any further in his room, and taken aback at how forthright Augus was being on the matter. ‘There’s no reason to be. I was being rude, and he responded. It might seem severe to you, but we are two powerful fae, and I confess I do not listen to mild rebuke.’

Augus folded his arms. He stared at Gwyn like he wasn’t happy with that response at all, and then abruptly he turned and noticed the hole in the stone blocks that made Gwyn’s room. He walked to that instead, bending down to pick up some of the rubble, before letting it drop to the floor.

‘Ah, yes,’ Augus said silkily. ‘You didn’t think it odd at all, that he did such a thing to you. There’s no way you came back here and responded with impotent violence over it all. Taking it out on your room instead of him? How mature.’

‘Get out,’ Gwyn said, stung.

‘I have no problems attempting this diplomatic assignment, though I wish I’d been given some _notice_ to tie up some home affairs. A week isn’t long. I’ll have to let Ash know. But I do have problems taking you with me. Can you behave yourself?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, his heartbeat racing. As they stood there, Gwyn became increasingly aware that Augus knew. He _knew._ He had looked at Gwyn and his reactions and he had _figured it out_ even before he’d met Oxcillian. And Gwyn wanted to know what he’d figured out, and how he’d figured it out, and if it was something Gwyn could hide from everyone else. He wanted to know if he could reach into Augus’ mind and remove all the memories from him, and he suspected he could, but to do it, he’d have to remove Augus’ memories of _Gwyn._

The Raven Prince would notice that, and besides, Gwyn found himself reluctant to make Augus forget about him, even though it was never comfortable having him close.

‘Do you know anything about the vench?’ Augus said.

‘That they are freshwater cave-dwelling fae, they have large, closed, underground cities and are nearly entirely self-sufficient. They trade for what they do not have. They do not like outsiders, and are prejudiced towards fae of the sky, and Master Mages.’

‘Do you know what they feed on?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, not having given it much thought. ‘Are they drowners?’

‘No,’ Augus said, smiling serenely, though the entire expression was a mockery. ‘But I suppose you’ll find out what they feed on.’

‘Do _you_ know the vench?’

‘I’ve traded with them in the past,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Amazingly, I don’t think the Raven Prince knew that. But the medicine I make is highly effective on freshwater fae in particular, and I’m given to understand that my products are cheaper than some of the other merchants. The King was even more excited after learning that.’

‘Yes, he would be,’ Gwyn said. ‘Aren’t you just full of surprises?’

‘Please let me look at your eyes.’

‘They’re _fine._ And you’re not a healer!’

But he wasn’t sure if that was true. He didn’t know that Augus made medicine, though he’d smelled it in his house in the past, he thought that was because Augus needed to use it on all the people he tortured. Not because he made it and traded it.

‘I am not going to hurt you,’ Augus said, holding up his hands, and Gwyn wanted to grind his teeth into dust. He hated it when Augus changed his tone like that. It made Gwyn want to trust him, which was a _trap._

‘They’re fine.’

‘Then you won’t mind me looking,’ Augus said. ‘You’re the one with all the magic, and I have none. It’s for my own satisfaction. I can’t believe he blinded you, and your eyes look sore.’

‘They’re fine _now.’_

‘What do you think I’m going to do to you?’ Augus said coolly.

The way his tone changed made Gwyn quail. It was as close as Augus had come to indirectly referencing the shared, horrid knowledge between them.

Against his better judgement, Gwyn sat down on his bed and indicated that Augus could come closer to look, if he wanted.

Augus walked over swiftly, one hand beneath Gwyn’s chin, lifting it proprietarily. And then those green eyes were staring down into his, and Augus’ thumb was pressing into the corner of his eye, and then carefully pulling down the lower lid. He frowned at whatever he saw.

‘You’re healing,’ he said. ‘But they’re not fine.’

His touch was clinical, but Gwyn still didn’t know how to react to having Augus this close to him. It frightened him. It scared him the way it scared him to have any fae too close to him. About the only one he could handle this kind of proximity from was the Raven Prince, and the Raven Prince rarely offered it in the first place.

Augus took his time, and when he moved to Gwyn’s left eye, his eyebrows furrowed. Gwyn jerked when Augus moved his nail from the corner of Gwyn’s eye to his ear as though he was tracing a line.

‘What are you doing?’ Gwyn said sharply.

‘The energy isn’t flowing well.’

‘You know meridians?’ he said, tempted to jerk away. But he stayed still, not liking the way Augus’ hand at his chin moved his head this way and that, like he had a right to.

‘I know the way water likes to flow in a body,’ Augus said quietly, and then he traced a line from Gwyn’s ear down to the back of his neck. A glimmer of sensation that was electric, like Augus had _done_ something to him, and alongside the faintest hint of pleasure, of warmth, was a terror that surged so quickly that Gwyn leaned backwards and kicked out even as Augus’ eyes widened and dodged.

The kick didn’t land properly, but Augus still stumbled back and Gwyn was braced on his elbows on the bed, locked up, seething.

‘What was _that?’_

Augus watched him warily, but now that he’d actually gotten away from him, Gwyn felt less threatened. His heart calmed, and after a while, he pushed himself back up into a sitting position. He rested his palm against the back of his neck.

When Augus burst into laughter, Gwyn stared at him, sure that he’d lost his mind.

‘Oh, this assignment is going to go terribly,’ Augus said, a hand over his mouth as he turned and kept laughing. ‘When you kill me for no reason at all, can you pass a message onto my brother, at least?’

‘It’s not funny. What did you do to me?’

Augus’ laughter vanished, and when he turned back there was nothing but pity on his face. Gwyn felt small before it, and like he’d missed something. He looked to the side of Augus’ face, instead of directly at him. Even with all his magic, his Inner Court status, all his strength, Augus had a way of looking at him sometimes that tied up all his words in the back of his throat.

‘I touched you,’ Augus said. Gwyn saw the sad, small smile in the corner of his peripheral vision. ‘But you’re _so_ unused to it, aren’t you? It’s true, I was following a blocked channel to the back of your neck, but I wasn’t doing anything to it. I would need to press harder to remove the blockage, and I should inform you that you’re going to have a splintering headache later because of it, if it hasn’t already started.’

There was something dull and throbbing at the back of Gwyn’s head, he’d attributed it to the Raven Prince’s magic.

‘You know we’re going to have to debrief before we leave,’ Augus said. ‘You can hate me as much as you like, but the vench will take advantage of any visible weaknesses they see between us. They’re exploitative that way.’

‘Do you think we can get the trade deal that the Raven Prince wants?’

‘Honestly? No. But I think we could potentially pave the way for a future trade deal. And I think if they allow us into their caves, and to witness their culture, it’s more than the Raven Prince has been able to achieve thus far.’

Gwyn stood, resisting the urge to reach back and brace himself on the baseboard of his bed. He could still feel the aftermath of Augus’ touch on his face. Around his eyes, down towards his ear, across to the back of his neck.

‘We can debrief before we leave,’ Gwyn said. ‘But you should get your affairs in order first.’

‘And you?’

‘I have very little to sort out before we go,’ Gwyn said. He looked around the room. He wanted to be back in his cabin. He wouldn’t have been so needlessly violent there. It was easier to simply run and hunt through the woods. The deer were his friends, but they were prey, too. He ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. He would need to feed properly before they left. He didn’t like his chances of finding suitable fae to feed upon at Aethelwaters, and closed fae societies didn’t tend to look kindly on those who teleported in and out of their homes.

The easiest method of hunting was going down to the Unseelie prison and asking Oxcillian if there was anyone on the roster that he could feed upon. But Gwyn no longer liked the easy method. Instead, he would find battles and skirmishes with his magic, join them, choose a side arbitrarily, and consume whoever he killed.

Not easy, and it got him injured more often than not, given his lack of training in the kind of combat they tended to undertake, but it meant he avoided Oxcillian.

‘I will need to feed,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘Will you?’

Augus grimaced. ‘It gives me less time to arrange matters but yes, I think I’ll have to.’

He briefly pressed his fingers to his temples. Augus had been bossy towards him, today, and Gwyn stood there, unable to tell if he was seething or pleased about it. Augus stirred an anxiety in him that was horribly familiar, but then Augus never did anything that seemed to warrant it.

But he could. And one day he would.

‘I’m going to my cabin,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’ll meet you at your place on Sunday morning. We can depart from there.’

‘Sunday morning won’t work-’

‘Make it work,’ Gwyn clipped off.

He folded himself into his light and disappeared, landing in the woods under the light of the sun, the twittering of birds easing its way into his mind. He looked around and then took a huge breath, his shoulders sagging. As he walked towards his cabin, he traced the line from his ear to the back of his neck that Augus had traced, but his body didn’t give him that same electric response as before. The touch from his own fingers was only a touch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm going to regret not having chapter titles at some point.

_Gwyn_

*

Carrying a large pack filled with more than it looked like it could carry, wearing his staff visibly, he teleported with Augus to the land beyond Aethelwaters. It was humid, the air wet and clinging to his lungs, and around them, razor sharp rocks towered between thick trees with emerald green leaves, draped with vines and flowering lianas.

He knew that after today, he couldn’t teleport until they decided to leave, or were granted explicit permission. He was already frustrated. Teleporting made moving around a lot easier. And he liked walking and roaming and hiking, but he didn’t like it in the company of a waterhorse he didn’t trust while carrying a pack with everything he thought he might need for this ‘diplomatic mission’ that he was certain would go catastrophically wrong.

‘You look like you’ve been sucking on a lemon,’ Augus said sweetly.

‘This assignment doesn’t fill me with joy, that’s a certainty. Also, no guides to meet us? Excellent.’

‘It’s possible they didn’t know when to expect us, we’re also not officially on Aethelwaters land yet, are we? Keep your snarky little comments to yourself when we meet the vench, please.’

‘How else am I meant to pass the time?’ Gwyn said airily, then looked sidelong at Augus, liking the smirk at the corners of his lips. ‘I’ll guard my tongue, don’t worry. The Raven Prince wouldn’t have tolerated me if I didn’t have some sense of propriety.’

‘And yet I notice you are not his diplomat.’

‘I don’t _want_ to be,’ Gwyn said. ‘The Raven Prince has already made me his Mage, his dog, and his executioner. He knows that anything else he wants me to do, I shall need to want it too.’

‘Shall we head into the fray?’

‘One moment,’ Gwyn said.

He removed his staff from his belt and touched the tip of it to the ground. He let his magic move outward in invisible tendrils. He always imagined they were filled with light, filaments that glowed and lit up the land around him, illuminating the shadows and telling him what he needed to know.

There was definitely a large metropolis some distance away, underground, riddled with water sources. At least they were in the right place. He could detect individual fae here and there, but most of them were clustered together. They all had varying degrees of magic, yet no vench had ever studied at the School of the Staff. He didn’t blame them.

There were some weak protective shields nearby, though they were more like triggers just to let whoever made them know that someone was approaching. There was innate magic in the rocks and plants and water, which was interesting, and Gwyn wished he could have years here to understand the location, because it held a kind of aura almost like the Unseelie and Seelie Courts did. Perhaps the vench had been impregnating the land with energy for generations. It was rare that an entire population of fae did it, but not unheard of.

There were some other curiosities, but nothing that felt overtly hostile. After only a few minutes, Gwyn put his staff away and nodded.

‘It’s fine,’ he said.

‘At least you’ll make a good bodyguard.’

‘Don’t say that. You don’t know how much I’m aching to let you get attacked so we can declare this mission done and I can teleport out of there and say I did it to save your life, and then I’ll never have to worry about being assigned something like this again.’

‘You say the sweetest things.’

‘I’m already tired of this,’ Gwyn snapped.

‘What, being pleasant to people you’ve never met before is so hard for you? Really?’

Gwyn sighed. It wasn’t even that. He’d met plenty of strange and unusual and even hostile fae on his travels, he was practiced at dealing with them. In fact, he was quite skilled at it when no one from the Court was watching and judging him. But this wasn’t like that. He also needed to figure out how he was going to feed. He couldn’t feed on the vench, so he’d probably have to hike out of Aethelwaters and hunt that way. He could go without food for a time, but he didn’t like how it made him feel.

He walked ahead without responding to Augus, keeping his eyes on the terrain. It was a deep, grey-blue rock beneath their feet, covered in damp from the humidity, very slippery in places. It was easy to keep his footing, and Augus didn’t struggle with it either. Gwyn supposed he was accustomed to it, living around a lake. Still, Gwyn found the safest, most even parts of the surface, which sometimes brought them close to the trees that crowded around them, and sometimes brought them further onto the flat rocky ground. It felt a lot like walking over the top of a giant cave system.

Mosses, lichens and liverworts grew everywhere. Tiny orchids put forth fragile, delicate blossoms with flowers no bigger than Gwyn’s little fingernail. The place smelled green and earthy, and he had to contend that the longer he was here and away from the Unseelie Court, he began to relax in spite of himself. His wariness became more animal-like, gentler than the mood he was in before.

‘This is all tended,’ Augus said thoughtfully. ‘It doesn’t look like it is.’

‘But it is,’ Gwyn said, looking around. ‘I can feel it in the magic. How can you tell?’

‘They’re almost all valuable species,’ Augus said. ‘The organisation looks natural, but I’ve worked with plants like this at my lake. A bit of directed natural power here and there, you just encourage what you want to see while still respecting the ecosystem. Interesting. The humidity’s going to get tiresome, though.’

‘You don’t like it?’ Gwyn said, shocked.

‘Ah, well, waterhorse instincts. The ones to seek dryness and comfort and heat. Hopefully it’s different in the cave systems.’

Gwyn didn’t want to bet on it. He’d sensed water nearly everywhere. Not thick enough to be solid, or a hindrance to them travelling, but enough that he expected the caverns would be wet.

They walked for another three hours, taking their time, occasionally making observations to each other about the landscape. The trees became taller and were further apart, their canopies dense and interlocked, tall rocks sometimes growing through the trunks like spears, which didn’t seem to stop the trees at all. The rocks beneath their feet grew worn away in some sections, eroded by maybe hundreds or thousands of years of footsteps. Beneath the slippery surface, a rougher rock emerged, glittering bits of mica drawing them towards a wider road.

Gwyn paused then, dropping the point of his staff back to the ground. ‘Here,’ he said sharply. ‘We’ll wait for them.’

‘Are they coming?’

‘They know we’re here.’

‘Remember what the Raven Prince said.’

Gwyn scowled down at the ground, then put his staff away and walked until he was standing behind Augus, folding his arms. He wasn’t the one to make initial contact, Augus was. And Gwyn was defer to him in all diplomatic matters. It was frustrating, but that was the way his King wanted it.

Four vench approached them. The first thing Gwyn noticed was that though the Raven Prince described them as ‘frog fae’ they looked far more humanoid than he expected, though their human form would never pass in the human realm. That, and they were all nude. Two carried packs. Gwyn couldn’t see any visible genitalia, which matched with some of the research he’d done. They reproduced through spawning eggs, so didn’t need breasts, though they still had nipples while in human form. Males had penises, but they were concealed until they were aroused. While reading ancient texts, Gwyn sometimes wondered about these long lost researchers who explored these lands and made these diagrams, whoever they were, they’d been permitted no trade deals.

Three of the vench had pale skin with silvery, white-gold mottles and spots that caught the light and shone. Their white hair was short, and grew out in uneven pigment, until it made the same mottles and spots as found on their skin. Their eyes were arresting, black and glittery, with a single silver ring to mark out an iris as black as the rest of their eyes. The fourth vench was pale with dark green mottles, dark green eyes that glittered with gold and silver flecks. They looked older than the others, their green hair pulled back into a short ponytail. They also carried the heaviest pack, and looked the friendliest.

Augus waited quietly until they came close. One of the pale vench came forwards, holding out both of his hands, palm up. Then, as Augus went to place his hands down on the vench’s palms, the vench immediately lifted his wrists and placed his palms down instead and the message was clear. The vench wanted to dominate these meetings. Augus easily adjusted, moving his palms so that they were facing up.

The vench looked at their other companions, as though thoughtful, or maybe even pleased, and placed his palms flat on Augus’ for a few seconds.

‘I am Moston Bracken, of the Moston clan. With me are Moston Vale and Moston Wirth. You may call us by our singular names instead of our clan names. This is Crystlik Aman, a respected trader and merchant.’

The vench with the dark green mottled skin and hair bowed briefly. ‘It is a pleasure to see fae that are not vench in Aethelwaters once more.’

‘Especially peaceable ones,’ the one called Moston Wirth said.

‘If I may,’ Crystlik Aman said, coming forwards. Gwyn didn’t miss the way the Mostons looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed like they didn’t quite trust him. ‘You may call me Aman. In your language, I am male. Vale and Bracken are also male in your language. Wirth is neuter. Please do not refer to them as either a man or a woman.’

‘Thank you for educating us,’ Augus said easily. ‘I’m afraid we have a great deal to learn. Everything we know has come piecemeal from ancient sources or second or even third-hand knowledge. Your patience with us is appreciated.’

‘You cannot expect patience from all of us,’ Bracken said, his voice almost harsh, though he had been the one to introduce himself first. ‘Most vench do not speak the common fae tongue, and some speak no language in voice at all. We do not appreciate visitors unless we have need of something valuable they might offer us. We have allocated emissaries for you, of which Moston Vale, Moston Wirth and Crystlik Aman will be some. We will introduce you to other clans and emissaries in time, if you are worthy.’

Augus bowed in acknowledgement.

At that point, all of the vench stared with far less agreeable expressions at Gwyn.

‘They say the Mage is your guard,’ Bracken said. ‘He is not even wearing his motley? But we hear they are all so very overzealous about their cloaks.’

Vale and Wirth nodded, but Aman made a hissing sound that Gwyn realised was laughter. ‘You sound like an Ohlo Ohlo, or an Ebemia. Come now, Bracken, he’s been perfectly polite so far. He hasn’t opened his mouth, after all.’

Gwyn found the needling didn’t bother him at all. He expected worse. He unfolded his arms – even Augus tensed at that, along with the vench – and then casually placed his hands in his trouser pockets. After that, he smiled a little, and stayed silent.

Bracken tilted his head up at him, considering, even calculating. Gwyn saw a sharp mind there, but Gwyn suspected that they’d throw away a trade deal in a second. The Raven Prince wanted connections to the vench far more than the vench needed them. Gwyn had considered that maybe the Raven Prince mainly wanted that connection just to prove that he – out of all the Unseelie Kings – had managed it.

He coveted more than just books and languages and treasure. He coveted entire cultures and forming bonds with them.

‘Come with us,’ Bracken said finally, turning. ‘We’ll take you to the guest caverns.’

‘Do you see many guests?’ Augus said politely, following a few steps behind, not pretending that he was enough of Bracken’s equal to walk alongside him. Gwyn was impressed. Perhaps the Raven Prince was right, and Augus had the instincts of a good diplomat.

‘No,’ Bracken said.

After that, there was no more talking as they walked. Eventually they came to ledges that weren’t quite stairs, descending down. Here, vines grew thickly along the walls, some flowering in pale white and pink, as delicate as the orchids above. They had an odd scent to them, and Gwyn shivered, feeling like there was something strange about them. Augus looked at them, then stared back at Gwyn like he was trying to communicate something, but Gwyn had no idea what he was trying to say with just a look.

As they continued to walk, the members of the Moston clan began touching each other. At first Wirth and Vale interlocked hands, but then Bracken was stroking Vale’s arm, too. They did it unconsciously and easily, but Gwyn still felt tense to see it. He’d read that vench were very tactile, he hoped they had no expectations of them as guests.

The humidity grew denser, the sound of crashing water came from nearby, the first of what would be many waterfalls. Bracken stretched his fingers – longer than most fae in human form – and moved them all through Wirth’s scalp, and in response, Wirth made a low, chirping noise, leaning their head in close. It looked…comfortable, easy. Gwyn couldn’t even tell if it was sexual. But they were naked, and the touches were far more intimate than he was used to seeing at times like this.

Augus didn’t react like it was unusual at all. But Augus had met vench before.

Soon, they descended into a fully enclosed cave with a high ceiling, lights coming from torches set in the wall, aglow with bubbles of yellow and blue. Gwyn sensed magic in all of them. None of it was School of the Staff magic, but those were magelights. Gwyn had never seen them contained in bubbles before, and he resisted the urge to touch them to see if they’d pop, or if they felt squishy or soft beneath his fingers. He wanted to ask about them, but he knew his role was to be a subservient Mage. The Raven Prince wanted it known that not all Mages were arrogant asses.

He picked Gwyn for the job probably because of what he thought of as a sense of humour.

Aman dropped back until he was walking alongside Augus.

‘You’ve traded with vench merchants in the past, have you not?’

‘I have,’ Augus said. ‘The quality of what the vench make has always been very good. Whenever the opportunity comes up and I’ve had the time, I’ve taken it.’

‘Yes, yes. Do you remember who you traded with?’

Augus tilted his head. ‘He never gave his name. Only called himself ‘Vench.’’

‘Then he was unclanned,’ Bracken said, his voice echoing off the wet stone. The deeper they travelled, the more their voices and steps echoed until it was so loud it scraped at Gwyn’s ears. He had to wonder if it was deliberate. Anyone would hear them coming. It would be nearly impossible to sneak in, unless one could float.

‘Unclanned?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Aman said. ‘We have seven clans. The Crystliks and Mostons, you’ll be interacting with these the most. Then the Ebemia, Radula, Kithkalkith, Ohlo Ohlo and the Splannet. Anyone unclanned just calls themselves by the name Vench.’

‘Are we permitted to ask questions about the clans?’ Augus asked, his voice circulating around them, echoing on itself.

‘Why do you need to know about clans to make a trade deal with us?’ Wirth said, turning back and looking pointedly between them both. ‘You don’t need to know about our clans.’

‘I apologise,’ Augus said.

Wirth stared at Augus for a moment longer, as though they doubted the sincerity of the apology. But eventually they turned back and leaned against Bracken, before speeding up, taking the descent easily.

Eventually their descent down evened out onto low, flat stone surrounded by a slightly wider cave, more of those bubble lights in small alcoves in the cave walls. The lights had the effect of picking out the metallic and iridescent pigments in the venches mottles and hair, making them shimmer and shine. The air was humid and lukewarm, despite the waterfalls, and Gwyn wondered if it was magic or thermal springs, perhaps both. He was surprised to see no other vench, looking around curiously. Was this a separate entrance only for guests?

The cave opened into a cavern that was occupied by only one other vench. This one had the same pale colouring, green mottles and the same hair as Aman, and Gwyn thought they were probably a Crystlik. Perhaps the clans were coordinated by colouring. Was that familial?

‘Greetings,’ said the vench. ‘I am Crystlik Enita, I am here to show you to your home while you are here. There is a schedule that Moston Bracken will tell you.’

‘When you hear the Wakesong – you cannot mistake it – you are to stay in your home,’ Bracken said solemnly. ‘Then you will hear the Mealsong several hours later. Wait for a guide, and they will take you and show you some of our caverns. At Evesong, we will talk trade deals. Do not expect to see much of our life here. We are very private.’

‘There will be a test first, to see if we can tolerate you here, before we allow you to learn more of us,’ said Vale. He had a more muscular body than the other Mostons, and his voice was deeper. There was something about him that reminded Gwyn strangely of Oxcillian, which was ridiculous, they had nothing in common.

‘May I ask what the test will be?’ Augus said.

‘It will be a test of intimacy,’ Bracken said. Gwyn tensed, and Wirth, Aman and Vale all looked at him sharply. Wirth’s eyes widened, like they’d seen something that frightened them, or that they didn’t understand.

‘Ah. Will it require participation from the both of us?’ Augus said.

‘Whoever doesn’t pass the test will simply not be allowed to do more than share meals with us at Mealsong,’ said Bracken. ‘That alone is a privilege.’

‘I understand. Thank you for informing us in advance. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.’

Bracken hesitated for some time before replying. The serious expression on his face seemed to lighten.

‘We will not pretend we aren’t wary. It’s not our way to deceive like other fae, even other Unseelie fae. We have the luxury of being happy as we are, with each other, and there is very little we need from the outside world. But you have been very polite so far, even if you are wearing a lot of clothing.’

Gwyn didn’t react outwardly to that sentence, but he had a horrible feeling that maybe he’d been picked for this assignment literally to be the butt of some diplomatic joke, and it was starting to feel like a mean-spirited one. But no, the Raven Prince had no real concept of where Gwyn’s issues came from. But if they valued nudity and touch, then…the Raven Prince wouldn’t be able to handle brokering a trade deal himself.

Gwyn wasn’t sure he could handle it either.

Augus seemed to be perfectly in his element. Even his black mane seemed healthier in the humid air, droplets of water sparkling on the waterweed that grew out of his scalp.

Enita showed them down another long corridor after saying that she was a woman in the common tongue. The corridor had doors coming off it at irregular intervals. They were made of bamboo, and here the echoing was even worse than before. It had to be unnaturally amplified. Gwyn had never heard anything like it. He wanted to ask, but for the day he was pretending to be mute around the vench. If they asked him a direct question that wasn’t deliberately aggravating, he’d answer it, otherwise he was just there to…well…look after Augus.

Not that Augus needed looking after, he had his compulsions. He’d be fine. So Gwyn was there as ‘Mages can be good after all’ window dressing.

He sighed heavily and the sound pounded back towards him, Augus looked around and raised an eyebrow as if to tell him to cut it out. If the sound echoed this badly in their room – or home, or whatever they were being shown to – he was doomed.

Finally, Enita reached a large, circular bamboo door. This one had a small carved basket outside of it covered with a cloth that also looked like it was made of bamboo or hemp fibres. She picked it up, put it over her arm, and then drew a small beetle out of her pocket and handed it to Augus.

‘This is your echo beetle. Keep it close. It’s very sturdy and resilient, so it is fine in a pocket. When you need to let someone know that you are entering their home, cave, or clan and there is a door, place this beside the door on the wall like so…’

She took another beetle out of her pocket and placed it on the rock.

‘There are echo beetles in everyone’s chambers. They will be silent until they sense this echo beetle outside. This is how you know someone will be at your doors, and how others will know you are at theirs. It is very rude to enter without chiming the echo beetles first.’

‘Thank you,’ Augus said, turning the beetle carefully in his fingers, then putting it into the pocket of his black trousers.

‘If you lose your echo beetle, tell us. Not all echo beetles resonate and make other beetles chime, you cannot just pick one up from your room. They are responders, and will not coax a response from other responders.’

‘This is fascinating, I’d love to hear more about it?’ Augus said.

‘Perhaps later,’ Enita said, passing the basket along to Augus. ‘It is kind of you to show an interest. I must excuse myself. If you have any problems with your home, please tell someone after Mealsong. But not during the meal. It is rude to talk about things you do not like about your home during meals. After.’

‘Why do I get the sense we’re going to blunder about in your etiquette?’

‘You will,’ Enita said, smiling. ‘We are not used to explaining, and you are not used to knowing. Some won’t be very understanding, but some will. The Crystliks have your back, as the saying goes. The Mostons too, for all that Bracken can be a bit dour.’

‘Thank you,’ Augus said.

‘Thank you!’ Her eagerness resonated in the cave over and over again, she didn’t seem to mind. She swung open the first bamboo door, revealing a second door set a few inches behind it, then stepped back, indicating that Gwyn and Augus should open that door themselves. ‘Please enjoy your home. Bracken didn’t explain, but you cannot _hear_ the songs properly in your home, you will feel them through the walls. It will be a vibration. It’s unmistakeable, just remember the first song requires you stay inside, and when you hear the second, someone will come to get you. You will hear the beetle chimes.’

‘Thank you, Enita.’

She nodded eagerly, gesturing for them to go through the second door. Augus reached out and pushed it, and stepped forwards into a place that seemed much warmer and drier, and Gwyn followed. Enita watched him curiously, but with none of the hostility of the others. She closed the bamboo door behind him.

When the second door – which was very thick and felt like it was made from feather down and spiderweb and maybe bark – was closed, the echoing stopped. Even the incessant dripping of water was gone, those hundreds of tiny plinks vanishing.

‘Amazing,’ Gwyn said quietly, staring around.

Mosses and lichens had been dried and pressed or glued to the walls and ceiling to provide sound-proofing. Woven tapestries that looked as though they’d been made from dyed vines were hung around the walls, depicting pleasing symmetrical shapes, curves and circles in shades of green and gold, ivory and brown. The floor was soft, covered in a kind of moss that seemed to absorb the water from their feet and bounce back once they stepped off it.

Three other rooms branched off the central space. One had a large bed, the second was a bathroom with a real thermal spring, Gwyn sensed out the same magic he felt everywhere, but it wasn’t concentrated in the spring, which meant that was no more doctored than anything else, and the third room was bare of most furniture, but had a few large cushions and pillows, and was more softly lit than the other rooms. Augus saw it and smirked. He put down the basket of what was food, judging by the scent, and straightened.

‘I can sleep in the main room,’ Gwyn said. ‘I should probably stay by the door, anyway.’

‘Perhaps,’ Augus said.

Gwyn didn’t like the way he stared at that room. He clearly knew what it was for.

‘What did they mean by intimacy?’ Gwyn said abruptly, needing to know, needing to quell the dread in his throat. ‘You know, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know the exact form the initiation will take, no,’ Augus said, leaning against the cave entrance to the cushion room, looking around with interest before his eyes settled on Gwyn. ‘You can’t guess?’

‘Just tell me. I’m here now, aren’t I?’

Augus must have taken pity on him, because that smirk vanished, and what was left was far gentler. Gwyn had seen that expression before. He’d seen it the night of the Masque. He’d seen it the time Augus had burst into his rooms to check his eyes. It didn’t help at all with his rising dread.

‘They feed on intimacy shared with others,’ Augus said. ‘Specifically, they feed on intimacy generated primarily by physical touch, _especially_ orgasm, but I doubt they’ll expect the latter from us. They will, however, probably want a genuine show of physical intimacy.’

‘Between _us?’_ Gwyn said, staring at him.

‘If not each other, then one of them.’

Gwyn bit down hard on the inside of his lip. He wasn’t even sure what intimacy _meant._ He could probably force himself through some neutral touch. The hand-holding didn’t seem so bad, though his eyes widened when he realised the Mostons had probably been feeding. Or bonding? Creating intimacy? Were they doing that right in front of them?

Was that why they were nude all the time?

Augus laughed softly. ‘You look so out of your depth.’

‘Why did he send _me?’_ Gwyn said, despairing.

‘I don’t know,’ Augus said. ‘Perhaps he didn’t know about the initiation, or perhaps he didn’t expect one. I have no problems with what they’re asking for, Gwyn. To the best of my ability, I’ll try and make sure whatever we have to do, I can somehow secure their trust in you as well.’

‘We aren’t doing _anything,’_ Gwyn said. ‘You’re enjoying this! You just want an excuse to rape me!’

His voice was oddly muffled by all the soundproofing around them, especially after the echoing and being forced to stay silent for so long. As soon as he shouted the words, he knew that wasn’t what Augus wanted. He’d known that for a while. He didn’t trust Augus at all, but he knew Augus didn’t expect to just throw him down and rape him. Gwyn would kill him first. He’d kill him, and he’d kill any vench that tried to stop him, and then he’d probably have to go fight some kind of magical war because of it that he wasn’t interested in.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn said abruptly, turning away from Augus and the way his expression had shifted to annoyance.

‘You might as well get it out of your system now. You’re going to have to be exceedingly polite with them, especially since they’ll think that you’re too good for their initiation if you don’t participate.’

Gwyn dragged a hand through his hair. This would be the point where he’d teleport away, but he couldn’t. Instead, he lowered the pack and then walked into the central chamber and sat on one of the chairs provided. It was soft and comfortable. All of the furniture looked soft and comfortable. Even the tables had little places where moss or plants grew, as though one could rest their head there, or their arm. It was a place designed for physical comfort.

It didn’t help him feel comfortable at all.

‘We should probably get some rest,’ Augus said. ‘They’re obviously nocturnal if we’re heading towards evening and their Wakesong. We’re going to have to get on a different schedule.’

‘You can sleep,’ Gwyn said. ‘I have to think.’

Augus began to walk towards the bedroom and then hesitated. He looked back at Gwyn with an expression that the Raven Prince sometimes directed at him. It was doubt. A lack of faith. Augus didn’t think Gwyn could do this.

Gwyn wasn’t sure he could do this either. He closed his eyes and after a few minutes, heard the sound of Augus padding away. He fought with himself not to teleport away for the next few minutes, then entered some dull, dread-filled space in his mind, the likes of which he hadn’t occupied for years. He tried not to think about Oxcillian, and he failed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back WE'RE BACK :D
> 
> New tags: Group intimacy (not involving Gwyn).

_Augus_

*

After resting, Augus roused to the feeling of vibrations humming through the walls around him. It felt dizzyingly liquid, almost like he was in his lake digesting food, and he woke into the humid cave while lying on the bed, with Gwyn standing there in the corner of the room looking a mixture of alarmed and stoic. Augus wasn’t sure Gwyn knew he’d been making some version of that expression since they’d entered the cave system.

A part of him wanted to naturally quell Gwyn’s fear, or consume it somehow, and he lingered in a sweet space of enjoying watching Gwyn suffer, while also wanting to satisfy his urge to soothe him. He couldn’t effectively do the latter anyway.

Gwyn was in real danger here.

Augus knew the vench fed on intimacy and that they did so nearly constantly. He knew primarily they interfaced through all kinds of touch, both sexual and nonsexual, but even joke-sharing, singing, meal-sharing, all of these were forms of food for the vench. Any intimate, connected energy shared in communal spaces could be eaten.

And Gwyn wasn’t open to any of it. He was trying his best, but he was a closed system. He was polite, but he wasn’t vulnerable. He was rigid, not yielding. Augus was certain the intimacy test would likely be challenging, but he didn’t see how Gwyn could get through it without failing. It wasn’t even something he believed he could coax or encourage Gwyn to withstand. He just wanted to make sure Gwyn didn’t lash out with his magic, because Augus found he was looking forward to the test and what it might entail.

Unlike Gwyn, he appreciated intimacy in all of its forms and was beginning to see why the Raven Prince wanted him here. At least, he hoped it was because Augus might stand a chance of doing well here, and not because the Raven Prince wanted to make a joke of them both.

Nothing would surprise him.

‘We stay inside during Wakesong,’ Gwyn said, as though double checking.

‘Yes,’ Augus said, stretching languidly and looking down at his clothing. He expected he might need to shed the clothing while he stayed here. The vench clearly mistrusted it and saw it as a sign of bad faith. He couldn’t ask Gwyn to do the same, but he’d never had a problem with his own nudity.

Still, it wouldn’t do to start that now. Gwyn was nowhere near ready for this community.

‘That room,’ Gwyn said, pointing over to the room with its pillows and soft surfaces. ‘It’s for fucking, isn’t it? Even though there’s a bed.’

‘It’s for intimacy,’ Augus said calmly. ‘Whether it’s meals or embraces or sex. It’s larger than the bed, because vench are used to sharing all kinds of intimacy with multiple members of their own clan – and sometimes other clans – at once.’

‘How do you _know?_ No one knows that much about the vench.’

‘I have eyes and ears,’ Augus said. ‘I am able to deduce. And I’ve met vench before. All in all, I’d say things are going well.’

‘A test of intimacy,’ Gwyn spat out.

‘Do your best,’ Augus said, ‘and don’t force yourself.’

‘I’m forcing myself to be here!’ Gwyn exclaimed, then swallowed and turned around. Augus saw the backs of his ears redden. There was nothing Augus could do to really help him. And in that, he saw the scars that Oxcillian had left all the way through him, even without knowing the details. The very thought of intimacy filled Gwyn with terror, and Augus knew there would be no quick way of undoing those knots, and no way of ever erasing the scar tissue.

Augus very much doubted any of the wounds had even scarred over yet. He was too raw and defensive, and Oxcillian was still in the Unseelie Court.

Eventually Augus rose and walked over to the basket Crystlik Enita had given to them. He’d have to learn more about their clan systems. So far they’d met members of the Crystlik and Moston clans, and had heard mention of the Ohlo Ohlo and the Ebemia, though the way they’d been referenced made Augus wary of them. He wondered how many clans there were.

In the basket he found sticky cakes made from pounded root vegetables, spices and nectar, wrapped in large green leaves. There were also several beautifully made ceramic vials of liquid, and two scarves, the purpose of which Augus couldn’t divine.

The vials of liquids had clear purposes. One was lubricant for sex or massage, and when Augus rubbed it on his fingers, he noticed it was slightly warming. It didn’t surprise him, he knew the quality of their aphrodisiacs and wares. Descending the steps into the cave networks, he’d seen iliavin everywhere, a vine with a mild aphrodisiac property when chewed and eaten that could be concentrated into a potent paste. The next liquid Augus didn’t even touch, he smelled the combination of drugs and corked it firmly and immediately felt his cock grow hard from the aroma alone. The third liquid he couldn’t divine the purpose of at first, finding it mild in scent, and not very slick.

He corked the bottle, because he didn’t want to apply any more to himself after rubbing it between his fingers. And over the next few minutes as he monitored his body, it grew warm and his heartbeat slowed down. He found himself feeling extremely peaceable and mild-tempered. And the texture of the bed beneath him felt far more comfortable.

Augus pursed his lips at that one. It might be worth asking if he could buy that calmative for his own personal stores. It would certainly come in handy with some of his clients, and it was extremely subtle.

The vibrations continued around them for some time, and eventually Augus got used to the background drone. Gwyn paced the room, explored the walls, and Augus left him to it. He wondered how much of it was information gathering, how much of it was self-soothing.

‘Do their jibes about you being a Mage bother you?’ Augus asked eventually.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, and that at least seemed honest. ‘The Raven Prince makes them himself. But also they are right to be defensive. They have been treated deplorably, and it is already generous that they have allowed me to come. I think it’s a bad decision, I think I’m a terrible candidate. I appreciate that they have no reason to trust or even like me.’

Gwyn smiled mirthlessly as he looked around the room with narrowed eyes.

‘Still, I can’t help but feel as though I’m waiting for a trap to spring.’

‘Well,’ Augus said. ‘Whatever happens, I will be here, and I have intervened on your behalf before and would do so again.’

Gwyn’s blue eyes darted to his, sharp and shocked. Augus knew he wasn’t supposed to mention the Masque, and he wasn’t supposed to mention the fact that he knew that Oxcillian had assaulted, abused, and raped Gwyn likely from a young age. Even in the context of saying that he’d help Gwyn in the future.

No, Augus knew very well that Gwyn had a carefully constructed image around himself of someone who never needed help, never would. Someone too strong to need anyone at all.

The vench were going to hate him.

*

The humming sensation in the stones fell away, and Augus lounged in the thermal spring dozily, deciding that he quite liked how the vench lived their lives, even if he loathed the humidity. The sticky wetness was unwelcome, but the water in the thermal springs was filled with minerals and bubbled pleasantly against his skin.

An hour later, when Gwyn was running through some exercises in the intimacy room and Augus was lounging, the beetles chimed softly. It was a distinct, sweet sound, though its volume was undeniable. Augus wasn’t sure what the etiquette was, but he rolled off the bed and opened the softer inner door, and found the bamboo one already open and a vench he hadn’t met stood there patiently.

‘Greetings,’ the vench said. ‘I am Radula Enris. You may call me Enris, and I am male by your definitions. I have come to talk to you about the test of intimacy, and then take you to the location.’

Even Augus felt the way Gwyn’s energy changed from the other room, but Enris’ pale eyes flew open, he looked sharply to the other room. Augus suspected that due to feeding on intimacy and touch, vench were far more sensitive to changes in mood. He wasn’t sure exactly how they fed, but he’d noticed the other vench reacting poorly to Gwyn’s reluctance and fear.

‘I’m Augus Each Uisge,’ Augus said, drawing Enris’ attention back again. ‘You can call me Augus. Do you wish to come in?’

‘Please,’ Enris said. He smiled, and Augus thought he was quite handsome. He was shorter than the other vench, and his skin was pale green, with deeper green at his hands and feet, around his neck, and between his legs. The iridescent mottles over his body were pale, like his eyes, and glittered prettily, almost like tiny fish scales.

Augus stepped back and Enris walked in, immediately sitting on the floor against one of the walls. Augus joined him, sitting cross-legged and waited patiently. Gwyn didn’t come out of the intimacy room, and Augus wondered if he was trying to convince himself not to teleport away.

‘First,’ Enris said, ‘I must ask, are you happy with your accommodation thus far?’

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘It’s a well-appointed room and very comfortable.’

Enris made a low hissing sound, but the expression on his face made Augus think the sound was some kind of pleasure or laughter.

‘The Radula organise accommodations,’ Enris said. ‘If you have any problems, please find one of us and tell us, or find me. Except at Mealsong.’

‘We’ll not make it to Mealsong at all, if we don’t pass this test,’ Augus said softly.

Enris paused, then nodded slowly. ‘Yes, it is true. As to the test, the intimacy need not be with each other, it can be performed alone, or you may seek intimacy with one of us. Many of us would be willing, and if you extend your hand like this…’ Enris extended one hand gracefully, palm up, long, dark green fingers pointing down. ‘Especially towards a particular vench, we will come and offer intimacy.’

‘You’ll do that even without trusting us?’

‘Trust is built through intimacy,’ Enris said. ‘Though some will not wish to build trust, and therefore will not extend intimacy.’

‘All right,’ Augus said, thinking it over. The fact that self-intimacy – masturbation? Self-touch? – was allowed, was refreshing. That helped. He didn’t feel too worried about it, since he didn’t think the vench truly hated that they were there. While it was obvious that some of the Moston clan were unwelcoming, they’d been more helpful than Augus had been led to expect from his research. ‘Does it have to be consensual?’

Enris blinked at him a few times, his forehead furrowed. ‘Consensual?’

Augus was mainly thinking of Gwyn. ‘If someone forced themselves to perform intimate touch with someone else, would they pass the test?’

‘Forced?’ Enris said, looking horrified now, instead of confused. ‘You misunderstand me. This is not intimacy! No one forces themselves to intimacy. That is…’

He chirped a word that Augus didn’t know and wasn’t sure he could replicate. Enris looked frustrated. He reached up and tugged at a curl of black hair, then shook his head again.

‘Intimacy cannot be forced,’ Enris said slowly, like he wasn’t even sure of the words. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Never mind,’ Augus said. ‘I’ll try and explain it later.’

He wondered if the vench even had concepts for rape and sexual abuse, or any kind of physical abuse. Perhaps being so intimately connected to one another, they just didn’t understand why anyone would go through with intimacy if they didn’t consent to it. Or perhaps they didn’t understand consent and took what they liked, because they all appreciated intimacy so much. At any rate, he didn’t think anyone was going to make him do what he didn’t want to do.

‘I apologise,’ Enris said, ‘but we should leave. They are expecting us. More clans came to the test than we expected.’

‘Oh?’ Augus said.

‘Yes, Moston, Crystlik, Radula and Ebemia are all represented. But also Ohlo Ohlo, and even Kithkalkith Kimerrin is there.’

‘Is there anyone it would be rude to approach?’ Augus said.

‘They are at the test of intimacy, many will respond to invites for intimacy, and those that don’t will not be offended if you ask. Even Kithkalkith Kimerrin. They would not be there if they weren’t curious.’

‘All right,’ Augus said. He stood as Enris did, and looked down at his clothing. ‘Should I wear less now?’

‘If you want to,’ Enris said, ‘but everyone has been warned that you wear many layers, and that is just how it is in the above. We know this, of course. If you become more comfortable, you can wear less.’

Gwyn appeared in the doorway of the intimacy room, looking greyer and paler than before. Augus switched from wanting to torment him, to having significant doubts that Gwyn would manage any of this. Would their diplomatic project go on if Gwyn simply teleported back to the Unseelie Court and Augus had to continue alone? Would Gwyn last less than twenty four hours in Aethelwaters?

From the look on Gwyn’s face, he wasn’t certain either.

Enris looked at Gwyn for a long time, his expression unreadable, and then he simply turned towards their front door and Augus realised it was time for them to go.

*

The humidity was a shock, and Augus immediately understood why so many vench walked around without clothing. A few hours exposed to this and his clothing would get damp, over time would attract mould or mildew. He hated it and was grateful for the fact that his dome under his lake kept his house not only protected from the water, but also dry. It wasn’t a humid space at all.

They walked through caves, their steps echoing back to them in a way that Augus thought was incredibly clever. They’d clearly engineered or changed their caves over time to create noises that stopped anyone from being able to move stealthily through their corridors.

They passed several large openings that led to other corridors that looked far wider and well-travelled, and Augus realised they were still on the outskirts of vench society. Perhaps the place they were being led to wasn’t even part of the inner workings of the everyday lives of the vench.

Augus wished he’d had just a few minutes to talk to Gwyn beforehand, but what would he have said?

Ten minutes later, Enris opened a circular bamboo door wide enough for four people, and then an inner webbed door that opened into a large, circular room with a similar layout to the intimacy room in Augus and Gwyn’s lodging. But unlike that room, this one was much larger, with many cushions, blankets and pillows by the walls, where at least fifteen vench sat or knelt. Wirth and Vale were already there, Wirth draped over Vale’s lap, eyes half-open as Vale stroked their back languidly.

The room smelled musky, but also green and fresh, and in the back of his nose, Augus picked up similar chemical plant signatures from the vials he’d tested earlier and felt a sense of dismay.

There was no way to warn Gwyn without potentially giving offense to the vench, so he walked into the centre of the room – clearly intended for both Gwyn and Augus – and knelt by a large jug of water and a bowl filled with towels, and other items that looked like they were designed to help with massage or touch. Gwyn followed and knelt, and while Augus couldn’t scent his fear, he could see Gwyn’s stiffness, his discomfort.

Augus breathed the incense or oil and felt the warmth growing in his body.

Would the vench understand this as a form of forcing? Likely not.

Augus didn’t know the clans by their mottles and skin colourings yet. But there was a single vench with green and gold skin, who was tall and regal, with narrowed, shrewd eyes that glittered like gold and yellow mica, and the other vench didn’t sit too close to them. Augus realised that must be the Kithkalkith, from the way Enris had spoken.

He recognised the Crystlik, Moston and Radula patterning. The other two groups must have been Ebemia and Ohlo Ohlo.

If he felt trepidation at being expected to perform, he didn’t want to imagine what Gwyn must be feeling.

‘I apologise,’ Augus said softly to the expectant silence. He addressed Enris, then looked at Moston Bracken, who knelt, one of his hands casually resting on another Moston’s thigh. ‘I am uncertain of any appropriate rituals, is there any way you wish for this to proceed?’

Moston opened his mouth, but a low chirping sound cut him off, and Augus looked over to the Kithkalkith, whose eyebrows were raised imperiously, the hint of a smirk at the corners of their mouth. They made a few clicking and chirping sounds, which must have been a sentence of some kind from the reactions of some of the other vench. And then they gracefully raised their hands and proceeded to use a water fae sign language Augus was grateful to recognise.

_‘I am Kithkalkith Kimerrin. Neuter. Are you so unused to intimacy that you do not know how to begin without someone holding your hand? Our sources had suggested differently. How incredibly disappointing.’_

Augus’ smile widened as he watched the weaving shapes of the Kithkalkith’s hands. Augus tilted his head and unbuttoned his shirt easily, then pulled it off. He extended his hand, palm up, fingers down – exactly like Enris had shown him – in the Kithkalkith’s direction.

The vench’s eyes twitched, and they subtly shook their head, even as all the other vench watched them as though surprised Augus had invited them at all.

Augus extended his hand next to Enris, who smiled and stood, walking over and kneeling by Augus’ side, hands loose in his lap. He seemed pleased to have been chosen.

Gwyn knelt stiff as a rod nearby, and when Augus looked over at him, he was staring down at a fixed point on the ground.

Augus knew not to even try and attempt intimacy with Gwyn. Even something neutral, like stroking his hands… Would that be enough to pass the test? But Augus remembered the violent kick Gwyn had given him when Augus had touched his face after examining his eyes. He remembered the terror there, the profound fear of almost every touch. And that was in settings where he wasn’t being observed and judged and tested.

Augus stood and removed his pants, not yet hard – he wasn’t likely to be for some time, despite the warmth flowing through his blood – and knelt again. He reached for the tie in his hair, and Enris lifted his hands.

‘May I?’ he asked.

Augus nodded. ‘Be careful. The waterweed is sensitive.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Enris murmured.

Augus didn’t feel threatened when Enris knelt behind him, and Enris’ fingers were extremely gentle, which meant it took him longer to remove the tie. He was very careful not to snag a single hair on Augus’ head.

‘It sheds water,’ Enris said in quiet wonder.

‘It does,’ Augus said. ‘You may touch my mane, but as before, be careful.’

‘Yes, I will,’ Enris said, his voice low. ‘Normally we can hear each other’s responses through touch. But you will have to tell me. You cannot communicate to me if I put my fingers on your skin.’

‘Not in the ways you’re used to,’ Augus said. He felt Enris’ fingers rest so tentatively on Augus’ mane, they were barely touching. It was almost uncomfortable, except for the fact that Enris’ carefulness was enough like subservience that Augus’ heartsong of dominance was not only unbothered, but purring within.

Like this, he could see Gwyn’s fixed expression, and see the ways in which he had been broken. They were on display for all. For Gwyn could not even allow himself to consider neutral touch, nonsexual touch. He was locked up in a cage and though it looked like one of his own making, Augus knew it wasn’t.

And, because his face was so stern and grim, because he was so tense and uncomfortable, it would be easy to interpret his unwillingness to even try, as a Master Mage’s sense of superiority, of being above the vench’s culture.

_But that is not why you’re here._

After a few minutes of Enris touching his hair, growing bolder – but trying to avoid the waterweed where possible – Augus turned towards him and reached out, his hand hovering above Enris’ thigh. He looked questioningly at Enris, and he only nodded, then reached out and pressed Augus’ palm down to this skin.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘I am not shy.’

Enris’ skin was damp, his skin smooth. Augus leaned into him, pressing his thumb into the skin and testing the give of the muscle beneath, then sliding his fingers languidly along the outside of Enris’ thigh, up to his flank. The skin was softer than Augus’, almost silky, but there was a promise of strength beneath it. He could easily imagine Enris working on the caves to make them better or more suitable for the vench.

He watched Enris’ face closely, unsure if he’d know if Enris was enjoying the touch. But the vench’s eyes were closed, there was a small smile on his mouth. Augus realised that he really did just enjoy touch for its own sake.

So Augus touched him, pushing him back onto the moss and fabric beneath them. He cradled Enris’ neck with one hand, and explored his skin with the other. He tried to switch off his awareness of Gwyn, but it was impossible. Gwyn’s energy in the room was like a discordant hum, cutting into the harmony he was creating with Enris, the harmonies the other vench were creating around them.

Augus lowered his head to Enris’, his lips hovering a short distance away, his hand massaging small circles into Enris’ lower belly.

‘What does it feel like?’ Augus asked.

‘Like you understand,’ Enris said, his smile growing. ‘Like you understand us.’

‘And do vench kiss?’ he whispered against Enris’ mouth. The warmth in his skin from the drugs in the room was mild and pleasant, it wasn’t forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to do. He’d need to ask Gwyn if he noticed it.

‘Oh, yes,’ Enris said. ‘We do.’ 

Augus kissed him softly, pleased at the little noise that hummed up against his mouth. Augus sensed that Enris needed only gentle love, wouldn’t necessarily be drawn to pain, but it was nice to be bowed over someone else’s body. It was relaxing to focus on something sensual, instead of constantly worrying about politics. And how refreshing that unlike the Unseelie Court, he could actually feel how these fae wanted to trust each other instead of betray each other.

He kissed Enris until the fae started shaking beneath him, and Augus soothed him and pressed his face alongside Enris’ so that his mouth was near his ear.

‘It’s all right,’ Augus said.

‘You can do so much more,’ Enris said. ‘If you want?’

‘I would, but I am concerned for my companion.’

Enris’ shaking ceased, his face turned towards Augus’, like they were nuzzling together.

‘I understand,’ he said.

A few minutes later the vench nearby stirred, and Augus looked up to see the Kithkalkith vench standing once more. They didn’t look at Augus, but at Gwyn, and Augus held back his tension and instead drew back from Enris so he could observe what was happening. He kept one hand on Enris, helping to ground him.

Kithkalkith Kimerrin lifted their hands and tilted their strong jaw in Augus’ direction, blinking slowly as they finally made eye contact.

_‘You have passed the test of intimacy,’_ they said. _‘You may join us at Mealsong.’_

Augus nodded in acknowledgement, then lifted his hands and signed: _‘I am grateful for the opportunity and the honour.’_

Several of the vench chirped to each other at that, and Augus wondered if they didn’t expect him to be able to sign the language. But many waterfae couldn’t talk, especially underwater. Or maybe they were pleased that he was joining them at Mealsong, or even unhappy. It was hard to pick tone in those chirps and frog-like clicks and moans. Augus wasn’t practiced at picking out words in frog-song.

Kithkalkith Kimerrin walked past Augus dismissively, then faced Gwyn, standing and staring down at him while the Master Mage knelt.

Augus didn’t know how Gwyn managed not to teleport away. The Kithkalkith was tall and intimidating, and they clearly held more power than even the Moston clan. Whenever they moved, bright, shimmering vench eyes followed them intently.

_‘You have not passed the test of intimacy,’_ Kimerrin signed. _‘You may wait beyond this room until we are done sharing in our intimacy, and then you will be escorted back to your lodging, where you will remain until your companion has completed his diplomatic work.’_ Kimerrin turned to Augus. _‘Does he need a translator?’_

Kimerrin managed to make the signs deeply mocking in nature, with the exaggerated movements of their hands. They clearly didn’t think much of Gwyn. Augus suspected he may have gone up in Kimerrin’s estimation because of passing the intimacy test, but he didn’t think he’d gone up _much._

Augus was about to translate on Gwyn’s behalf, only to see Gwyn’s hands in the air, ready to sign. He blinked in shock, and Kimerrin followed Augus’ gaze back to Gwyn.

_‘I understand,’_ Gwyn signed, his gestures surprisingly eloquent and complete. Augus stared at him. When would he ever have learned the language? And _why?_ The Raven Prince wouldn’t have made him, would he? _‘I thank you for the opportunity, and will wait outside the door.’_

Gwyn stood stiffly and concertedly didn’t look at anyone – not even Augus – as he walked towards the door. And though he looked stoic and possibly even dismissive, Augus thought he could see how Gwyn was weighed down by misery.

He startled when he felt a hand resting soothingly against his, and he looked down and realised he’d curled his fingers absently against Enris’ chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ Augus said. ‘I’d hoped for a different outcome.’

Kimerrin didn’t look away from Gwyn until the doors were both closed, and then they turned back to Augus.

_‘Master Mages don’t belong here,’_ they signed.

Augus wanted to defend him, but he didn’t know if it would be rude. Just as he’d been told not to criticise anything during Mealsong, would it be wrong to criticise anything here?

_‘But,’_ Kimerrin signed speculatively, _‘there is more to him than one first sees.’_

It was a level of concession Augus hadn’t expected. He watched in amazement as Kithkalkith Kimerrin walked back to their cushion and lowered themselves, moving until they were comfortable. After a minute, another vench – one of the Ebemia, Augus thought – extended their hand towards Kimerrin, palm up and fingers down. But Kimerrin didn’t even look in their direction, and the vench withdrew their invitation.

‘May we continue?’ Enris asked sweetly, ‘or are you too worried for your friend?’

Augus thought it over seriously, and decided that as long as Gwyn wasn’t around the vench, he was probably about as comfortable as he could be. He dreaded to think what Gwyn’s mind was doing, but that wasn’t Augus’ responsibility.

He turned back to Enris and smiled, giving him the gift of his focus.

‘We can continue,’ Augus said. ‘But you’ll have to tell me what you like.’

‘All of it, so far,’ Enris said, returning the smile with a simple, eager charm that made Augus feel like – for once – this diplomatic assignment might not be so terrible after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a different story in so many ways to all the other Augus/Gwyn stories, it's been so interesting writing it. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

_Gwyn_

*

Gwyn sat by the corner of the mossy, lichen-covered wall and stared blankly into the room and knew he was very much _brooding,_ as the Raven Prince liked to often tease him for. As though the Raven Prince was completely unaware that he did it all the time himself.

Gwyn had known immediately that he was going to fail the test. What shocked him was how agonising it had been to watch Augus find all of it so easy. Over and over again, Augus seemed to dance diplomacy with these people with grace. He’d undressed like it was simple. He’d made his offer to Kimerrin, which had made Gwyn’s heart leap into his throat. He’d made an invitation to Enris and then easily pressed close to him.

There was no way the Raven Prince could have ever made strides with the vench, and Gwyn wasn’t sure he was supposed to either. He was beginning to feel like a decoration that existed to remind the vench that Master Mages could be pathetic and useless, that they were nothing to be scared of, really. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall.

He cautiously allowed that Augus was beautiful. Of course that was the main reason the Raven Prince admired him, and so Gwyn had always known it to be true. But nude, Augus was limber and lissom and so confident in himself. Gwyn wondered if Augus had ever been coltishly awkward in his life, or if he was just born automatically knowing how to love and celebrate his body.

Gwyn tried not to think of Oxcillian, and failed.

As soon as he’d smelled the incense in the room and felt it playing upon his body, he’d started thinking of Oxcillian.

It was many hours later when Augus finally entered he room. He was still naked, holding his clothes in one hand. He smelled of sweat, both his own and the sweat of others. Gwyn’s nostrils flared and he realised he could smell far more than sweat on Augus.

It left him bitter and despairing. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to get out into the forests around Aethelwaters, hunt and feed, then go back to his cabin.

‘It went well,’ Augus said.

‘How good for you,’ Gwyn said, not bothering to look at him again.

Augus sighed. ‘I’m going to have a shower, and then we’ll talk.’

Gwyn didn’t respond. He didn’t care.

Some time later, when Augus came out from the shower, Gwyn realised he was exhausted in a way that leeched every good thought from his body.

Augus sat on the bed facing Gwyn, and Gwyn wondered if he was imagining Augus’ concern. But no, he’d seen signs of it before, as well.

‘At least we know, now,’ Gwyn said. ‘You can attend their culture and learn about them, and I’ll stay here and hunt when it’s appropriate. So I’m not necessarily going to ruin things for you or my Prince.’

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, then hesitated. ‘It’s not only about that.’

‘I’m not going to pass a test of intimacy,’ Gwyn said, smiling bitterly. ‘I’m not like these people, I’m not like you. I don’t share intimacy with anyone. Of any kind. I prefer to eat alone. I prefer to do everything alone. There’s nothing I could have done that they would have believed.’

‘I know,’ Augus said.

‘And you find it so easy,’ Gwyn said darkly. ‘Because you’ll fuck or rape anything and anyone.’

‘I don’t really find anyone unattractive,’ Augus said plainly. ‘It tends to be personality that sours my interest. Enris was sweet and accommodating. But also, do you think I wasn’t concerned about what might happen? That I’m incapable of being worried about this situation? They clearly are at home with aphrodisiacs and other drugs. I didn’t know what to expect either. I know you take a rather dim view to this whole process, but I think they are trying. Actually trying. I’ve met far more hostile closed communities.’

Gwyn had too. But he was tired, and he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about Augus touching Enris, or Augus stripping off easily and comfortably, or the way Kimerrin had looked down upon Gwyn throughout, so disdainful when passing his judgement.

It hadn’t been hard to simply excuse himself. He suspected Kithkalkith Kimerrin wanted the drama of a Master Mage saying he was above such things, but Gwyn had felt so small. He hadn’t felt so acutely like that since the last time he’d been cornered by Oxcillian. And he resented feeling the same now. Especially when nothing untoward had happened to him.

Tiredly, Gwyn pushed up and made his way to the empty, spacious room with its cushions. The smaller version of the place where all the vench had sex with Augus earlier.

‘I’m going to bed,’ he said.

‘Gwyn, the bed here is large enough, you can-’

‘I’m used to sleeping on the ground,’ Gwyn said.

This time, he didn’t even bother to rest by the door. He didn’t believe anyone would ambush Augus, and he wasn’t supposed to use his magic here anyway.

He found a soft, spongy corner and dragged some pillows towards himself. In the end he slept badly, aware that it was daytime, and that when night began, Augus would be invited to Mealsong, and he would stay behind.

*

The vibrations of Wakesong through the wall stirred him from a sleep filled with lazy nightmares. The kind that oozed through his mind, one after the other. He looked up and realised what the sound was, realised he literally had nothing to do for the night, and curled up again. Perhaps he should be more concerned that Augus would be interacting with the vench on his own, but he wasn’t. If the vench wanted to kill him, they could kill him. It wasn’t like Gwyn could force himself to act as a bodyguard if he couldn’t pass a basic test of etiquette.

He knew intimacy was basic and easy for them. He knew the vench lived and breathed it. That wasn’t a test they manufactured out of nothing, it wasn’t something they did just to haze or initiate the foreigners. It wasn’t anything like some of the things Gwyn had gone through at the School of the Staff, to prove repeatedly that he deserved to be there like everyone else, and not just because he was a student of the Raven Prince.

The second time he woke, Augus had stepped into the room and was crouched before him, far enough away that Gwyn couldn’t lash out and hurt him if he wanted to.

‘Do you want me to see if I can negotiate some alternative for you?’ Augus said softly.

‘Stop this,’ Gwyn said. ‘I am the last person who should be here. They know it. You know it. So do what you need to do. I could use the break.’

‘Ah, yes, you look tremendously relaxed.’

‘I _was_ sleeping, before you interrupted me.’

‘Fitfully,’ Augus said. ‘I’m surprised at how quickly you gave up.’

‘Really?’ Gwyn said, laughing sharply. _‘Really?_ Then you’re a fool.’

A few minutes later the chime beetles sounded and Gwyn lowered his head back to the floor. He didn’t mind that sound. It captured attention without being grating. But it was also a reminder that Augus would be spending the evening learning about a fascinating culture, and Gwyn would be here. With Augus gone he could run through some exercises, but he couldn’t use his magic. He wanted to test how true that was, but he also didn’t want to get them both thrown out.

Augus waited there for a few seconds longer, then stood and walked to the doors and opened them.

Gwyn listened to Augus talk to Radula Enris. The vench was far friendlier today than he’d been even the day before. Gwyn listened long enough to be aware that he’d bought another basket of food for Gwyn, and that if Augus was comfortable, they’d prefer he wore no clothing at Mealsong.

Augus undressed and left. The doors closed. He was alone in their chambers.

He idly considered getting up, then decided there was no point and stayed on the ground. He slept. Every time he woke up, fractious and frustrated, he kept thinking of Augus using the word ‘fitful’ to describe his sleep.

Well, it wasn’t inaccurate.

*

Augus returned at dawn, away for some seven hours. By that point, Gwyn had eaten most of the food. One of it had an involuntary arousing effect, but it was gentle. Still, his cock was half-hard for about an hour afterwards. There were large sticky buns filled with a dark red bean paste that were sweet and filling. He was sure they had some kind of drug in them, but he couldn’t discern what it did.

When Augus came back, he seemed calm and at ease. He only tensed when he took in Gwyn.

_Ah, wonderful._

‘I don’t suppose you want to know what I learned today?’ Augus said.

‘Not particularly.’

‘Even though that’s why you’re here?’

‘Oh no, Augus,’ Gwyn said, smiling. ‘I’m here because the Raven Prince needed to prove that a Master Mage could be a bodyguard and keep his magic under control, I believe _you’re_ the diplomat in charge of learning about a fascinating culture.’

Augus narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth, and then turned away and went to the bathroom. After that, he went to bed and didn’t try talking to Gwyn again.

*

The next night passed in the same fashion. Augus slept through the day easily, he woke before Wakesong, he undressed at the door when he was fetched – this time by Bracken Moston, who spoke under his breath as though he was referring to Gwyn, which Gwyn didn’t appreciate – and then he left. He returned eight hours later without saying a word.

Gwyn missed wandering around the woods, and had taken to treating this stay as a very annoying School of the Staff task. There had been far worse, after all.

*

The next two nights passed in much the same fashion. Gwyn was getting used to the shift in his sleeping pattern, but he was bored, and he spent a lot of time in the thermal spring, half-dozing. He ate the foods that seemed safest, and he spent time just staring at the tapestries and admiring the craftsmanship.

Augus returned at dawn, sometimes even a little later. Sometimes he smelled of sex and sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he tried to engage in conversation with Gwyn, but there was little point – at least, as far as Gwyn was concerned.

He was looking forward to all of this being over.

*

The next evening, at Wakesong, three vench came to the door. Gwyn was sitting idly in the empty room, waiting for Augus to leave so he could go back to doing as little as possible.

Moston Wirth, Moston Bracken and Radula Enris all entered through the double doors into the chamber itself, which was the first time that had happened since Gwyn and Augus had arrived. Moston Wirth, holding a basket, walked straight into the room where Gwyn was and tilted their head with an unreadable expression on their face. After a while, they put the basket down. Moston Bracken entered, and Wirth reached for his hand automatically.

Gwyn did _not_ like sitting on the floor while the vench stood nearby. So he pushed upright and stood as well. And then five of them were in the room – Wirth, Augus, Bracken, Enris and himself – and he wondered if he should be beating a hasty exit. He knew this was some kind of ‘intimacy room.’ He didn’t want to be here for whatever was planned.

‘Augus has explained to us that you didn’t think yourself above our intimacy, during the test,’ Wirth said, watching Gwyn curiously. ‘And I am inclined to agree. Kithkalkith Kimerrin is concerned that you have not been trying to leave your chambers even to share meals with Augus. There is no one with you at all. You have been alone for days.’

Gwyn wasn’t surprised that they’d interpreted his attitude as superiority. Nearly everyone did. It came in handy. But the fact that they were questioning it and replacing it with this instead felt far more threatening.

‘I’m doing quite well, thank you,’ Gwyn said.

Wirth flinched, and they looked towards Bracken. ‘But he is not, Bracken.’

‘I know,’ Bracken said.

Gwyn glared at Augus. He wasn’t interested in any kind of intervention. Augus’ neutral expression gave nothing away.

‘I wasn’t certain before,’ Wirth said. ‘But you are afraid. You have chosen the Alone, over intimacy.’

‘Not all fae are vench,’ Gwyn said.

‘Common fae are communal fae,’ Bracken said, with an infuriating amount of calm, given how abrupt he’d been when they first met. ‘Certainly, there are fae that can live their whole lives without intimacy and be well. We do not profess to understand them. But you are common fae, and common fae settle in cities and make families and have partners and friends and even children, yes?’

It took a considerable amount of willpower not to respond with open hostility. His back was to the wall, and the vench and Augus were all standing near the only exit, which meant leaving easily was impossible.

Wirth was shaking Bracken’s wrist, over and over again, the pale white-gold mottles flashing in the light.

‘I know,’ Bracken said.

‘Would you share food with us?’ Radula Enris said, after looking quickly at Wirth and Bracken. ‘If we sat down together, would you eat with us?’

Gwyn looked to Augus again. Then looked back to the vench.

‘The food wouldn’t be doctored,’ Augus said. ‘Or, more accurately, it would be as undoctored as it’s possible for food to get here. Similar to what you’ve been getting over the past few days.’

It sounded deceptively simple, and normally Gwyn would never hesitate to share food with anyone from any culture. But after the past few days, after the test of intimacy, he didn’t want to force himself through another humiliation that Augus would pass competently. He found himself feeling unusually trapped, and so horribly small. His fingers curled as his hands began to ache and throb for no reason.

‘Perhaps you would share food with one of us?’ Enris said. ‘Three is too many?’

‘He’s Alone-sick,’ Bracken said, and for the first time his voice wasn’t neutral, but affected with disgust. He turned away. ‘He doesn’t belong here.’

Gwyn couldn’t have agreed more.

But Wirth didn’t let go of Bracken’s arm. Bracken looked like he’d been about to leave, but he stopped and then made deep, unblinking eye contact with Wirth while they touched. And then Bracken reached out with his other hand and touched Wirth’s forearm, and Gwyn realised they were communicating. It didn’t make him feel any more excluded than the entire vench culture did.

Augus could have warned him this was going to happen.

Would he break bread with them? All of them at once? If that was all he had to do, then perhaps. And it was before Mealsong, so they obviously didn’t expect him to be present there. No, of course not. As Bracken said, Gwyn didn’t belong.

And if they were offering to share a meal with him, did it mean that they were willing to try?

Gwyn was so confused.

He turned to Radula Enris, not wanting to interrupt Wirth and Bracken and whatever they were saying to each other.

‘I could eat something,’ Gwyn said. ‘Are there any of those sweet buns? The big sticky ones?’

Augus closed his eyes briefly, he looked relieved. But it was Wirth’s and Bracken’s black, glittering eyes moving to his in shock which he didn’t expect.

‘Unless you’ve changed your minds,’ Gwyn said.

‘No,’ Radula Enris said, smiling and sitting down, reaching for the basket. ‘And we have the buns. They are good, aren’t they?’

Wirth and Bracken sat slowly, still looking at Gwyn with a measure of shock. But Bracken recovered quickly, and Wirth’s expression shifted from surprise to open curiosity.

When Augus sat down, Gwyn sat too. He was too tired to sustain the worst of his fear, though he still felt despondent. He watched Enris bring out the buns. Enris passed them to his left, and they kept being passed along until Gwyn had one, until everyone had one.

Gwyn watched the others, his heart pounding hard. Enris split his bun in half and then offered that half to Augus, having to crawl a little across the floor to give it to him. Augus smiled and took it, but didn’t offer a half in return. Instead, he turned to Gwyn, and offered him half of the bun he’d broken.

Gwyn stared, aware that it was some kind of ritual. He reached out and took the half Augus offered him.

‘You may give your halves to anyone,’ Bracken said curtly.

So Gwyn offered half of the bun he’d broken in half to Augus. And then didn’t know if he’d be committing some grave offense if he chose the wrong vench. After a few seconds of deliberating, he offered the other piece to Wirth, who reached forwards and took it with that same curiosity on their face.

Gwyn was left with Augus’ half-bun, until Bracken gave Gwyn half of his own. His expression was still stony, but Gwyn didn’t know if he was the kind of person to do something he didn’t want to do. Maybe Bracken wanted to give him half. Or maybe it didn’t mean anything, and Bracken was just completing the ritual.

When all the halves had been exchanged, the vench started eating.

Gwyn followed suit. He tore off pieces of his bun and ate them feeling like this wasn’t terrible, even though he wasn’t sure what drugs the buns might have in them. He still couldn’t tell how these ones affected him, but thankfully his cock blessedly didn’t get half-hard.

After a while, Augus and Enris started talking about something to do with the Ohlo Ohlo clan, and Moston and Wirth leaned into each other and occasionally fed each other small pieces of bread.

Gwyn was aware of his separateness from them, yet he was also grateful to have something to break up the monotony of his evenings. But he had no conversation to make. He had nothing of note to share. They didn’t like Master Mages, and most of his life was concerned with that, or with consuming fae, or with walking in forests.

Choosing _the Alone,_ apparently.

When he was done, he licked his fingers, because he’d seen Enris do the same and was glad it didn’t seem to be rude. The sticky red filling was addictive, and he was going to find a way to eat more of it when he got back to the Unseelie Court.

‘Would you be willing to do something like this with Kithkalkith Kimerrin?’ Bracken said.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. He didn’t think Kimerrin would be willing to do it with someone like him, but that was another matter.

‘Would you be willing to let Kithkalkith Kimerrin feed you?’

Gwyn’s eyes widened, and he was already shaking his head, when Augus stepped in.

‘What about me?’ Augus said. ‘Would you let me?’

‘Wh- Are you trying to find a way to get me to pass a test of intimacy?’ Gwyn said incredulously. ‘Why even _try?_ They’re not wrong. I don’t belong here. The Raven Prince should never have…’

Gwyn trailed off and looked at the vench, aware that he couldn’t say anything against his King. Not here. Not now.

‘The Raven Prince sadly overestimated my abilities,’ Gwyn said finally. Much easier to throw himself before the spear instead of anyone else. ‘You yourself know that he did. But you are well-suited to getting to know the vench, and for as long as things are going well, I am happy to stay here.’

‘Alone,’ Wirth said dubiously.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘It is how I prefer to live above, as well.’

‘Alone,’ Wirth said.

Gwyn was coming to hate that word. ‘There are the animals in the forests. One is never alone in a forest.’

He expected some quick rebuttal, but all of the vench fell silent at that. It looked like Bracken and Wirth might be communicating again through touching each other. Radula Enris occasionally looked adoringly over at Augus, which Gwyn found incredibly tedious, but he supposed it boded well for their diplomatic mission.

They didn’t stay much longer. The basket remained behind, with food in it for the rest of the evening, as well as items that looked like they might be wooden logic puzzles. Gwyn contemplated spending time in the thermal spring after Augus went out for his day once Mealsong commenced.

He was still nude. Gwyn was the only one in the room wearing clothes.

‘You need not make them try so hard for me,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘Do whatever is best for the trade deal.’

‘I don’t think you understand,’ Augus said. ‘I didn’t either. But they’ve become increasingly concerned for your wellbeing, and I don’t think it’s going to stop. They need physical contact throughout the course of the day in a way that goes beyond what most fae can comprehend. At first they believed you were superior to _them,_ but would still get touch from me. But when it became clear to them this wasn’t the case, well, you saw how perplexing they find it.’

‘Alone-sick,’ Gwyn muttered, rolling his eyes.

‘Do you think they’re wrong?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said indignantly. ‘Of course I do. Don’t tell me you’re getting so enchanted by their way of life already.’

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, staring at him. ‘Most communal fae _do_ need company, companionship. It’s normal. You wouldn’t tell a pack animal to run alone, would you?’

‘And yet many do,’ Gwyn said. ‘Stags that cannot find groups of doe for themselves. Wolves that are rejected from packs and must fight alone.’

‘Then tell me, since you love your woodlands so much, how great are their chances of survival once rejected?’

Gwyn smirked. ‘Well, they’re not Master Mages, are they?’

‘You are deliberately missing my point.’

‘And you are missing mine!’ Gwyn said, standing. ‘The Raven Prince has been alone for as long as I can remember and he is the strongest ruler we’ve ever had! You sit there from your position of ego-focused dominance, believing yourself to be better and wiser than me, simply because you’re capable of wandering around caves with your cock out. It’s nothing to be proud of, Augus. And I see no reason for you to participate in their insipid attempts to coerce me into wanting what they want.’

Augus stared at him levelly, and Gwyn looked askance. Augus was blocking the exit just as the vench did. Eventually, Augus’ expression softened.

‘Was it truly so terrible to share food with them?’

‘What? No! But you know they want more than this! First sharing food, then being _handfed_ like a chick that still has its egg tooth. I don’t want any part of it.’

‘They _don’t_ want to hurt you,’ Augus said.

‘I am not going to sit here and be gazed at like an anomaly. I’m staying out of everyone’s way. I’m-’

‘Gwyn, even I’m worried about you,’ Augus said. And then he breathed deeply, and walked out of the room. Gwyn followed, annoyed, to where Augus was leaning against the headboard of the bed. He looked weary.

‘Why are you so tired?’ Gwyn said suspiciously.

‘It is an entirely new culture and I have to be careful of what I say and do for consecutive hours of every day,’ Augus said, like he was explaining something to a child. ‘There are clans that do not want us here, after all. And I then have to return to a sulking Mage every evening.’

‘I am no burden to you.’

‘No, I suppose you’re not,’ Augus said. Gwyn didn’t know why he was so relieved to hear it, but he was. ‘But I _am_ concerned. I don’t believe you’re truly happy here.’

‘Well, I can’t _leave,’_ Gwyn snarled. ‘I can’t _leave_ to go back to my forests, and I can’t work my magic. Of course I’m not happy here.’

Augus’ expression was so openly sympathetic that Gwyn felt a corresponding wave of frustration. He didn’t need this. He didn’t even understand why they were offering him this.

‘We could be here for weeks, or months,’ Augus said. ‘Not days. From what I understand, it takes time to get to know the clans. The clans have never approved a trade deal like the one the Raven Prince is seeking, so all the clans must be in accord. Not just the Crystlik, who have already agreed. But every clan, including those that are the most hostile to outsiders, the Kithkalkith, the Ohlo Ohlo, the Ebemia. It won’t be impossible to get the Splannet, Moston and the Radula to agree, but even they will take time.’

Weeks. Months. Gwyn rubbed at his face. He could leave, couldn’t he? Augus was in no real danger here, was he?

‘There are rumours that the clans will hold out,’ Augus said reluctantly, ‘and that they will hold out because _you_ came into Aethelwaters and refused to spend time with them.’

‘They were the ones that imposed the test that I failed,’ Gwyn said. ‘I was perfectly polite; I could have spent time with them. It’s not my failing that I’m being barred from it now.’

‘I know,’ Augus said with some impatience. ‘I know that. And it’s why they’re _trying,_ Gwyn. They’ve recognised that there’s something complicated going on that they don’t understand. Gwyn, they don’t understand the concept of rape. They have no _word_ for it. They don’t comprehend why a fae wouldn’t want to be touched if they’re a communal or social creature. They understand that you might not want to be touched by certain individuals, but not why you wouldn’t need it overall. They literally don’t understand, but they’re trying to. They were the ones who came up with the idea of mutual feeding as a compromise, and they were the ones that wanted to try eating together and sharing food. I’m not forcing this, but I am facilitating it, because I think it’s unhealthy for you to be stuck in here, day after day, _alone.’_

‘What have you told them?’ Gwyn said coldly.

‘About you? Nothing. But it came up when the vench were talking to me to understand why a communal fae might choose to be alone over being with people. I gave them many reasons, including that some fae are just naturally solitary. I’m as aware as you are that the Raven Prince is one of those creatures. But when it came to explaining how…certain transgressions against someone can damage their ability to touch or be touched by anyone else, they didn’t understand. In this community, if a vench doesn’t want to be touched, they decline or withdraw their invitation. Often, if they’re skin-touching, they automatically know when someone doesn’t like what is happening.’

‘And that never fails, does it? No vench has ever hurt another vench, have they?’

‘Not like that,’ Augus said. ‘Not when it comes to touch or sex with each other, no. As far as I can tell, it’s not even codified into their folklore. Of course vench have their disagreements and arguments, and they don’t all get along. But…they just don’t understand. Does it not matter to you that they’re trying?’

‘No, I- Of course it does,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘But I can’t give them what they want. I’m not going to become a different person for them.’

_Or for you._

Augus opened his mouth, and then the chime beetles sounded and he sighed.

‘It’s Mealsong soon,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in the morning. Please just…think about it.’

Gwyn looked down at the soft ground beneath his feet. He nodded, and Augus left. Gwyn felt heavy all over again, and tiredly, he made his way into the bathroom, undressing and slipping into the hot, tingling thermal spring.

He sank down until his hair was wet, and then leaned back against one of the natural, smooth rock inclines.

No, breaking bread with the vench hadn’t been terrible at all. But handfeeding? Even Augus offering it like it was a compromise – Gwyn understood that it _was_ – meant Augus didn’t understand how terrifying it was. Why was Gwyn the one that had to be fed like that? Maybe he could find a way to handfeed Augus. Maybe if he was the one who had all the control, he could do it.

But even as he thought it, there was some strange, internal part of him that knew it didn’t feel right. He didn’t instinctively want to handfeed anyone, and when it came to having someone offer food to him, he only thought of what it felt like to be trained to kill fae in that dungeon, with Oxcillian ‘helping’ him every step of the way.

There was no way to tell Augus that loneliness was preferrable over being hurt again. Augus knew anyway. And that was the problem. Augus knew too much, he saw too much. It was a miracle Augus hadn’t tried to hurt him with it yet, but he would eventually. Maybe when the trade deal was secured, or maybe before then, out of frustration that Gwyn wasn’t playing along.

Gwyn closed his eyes and rubbed the heel of his hand into his stomach. He could probably go another few days without feeding his true appetite, or even longer if he was willing to risk an increasingly fractious mood.

He wasn’t willing to risk it. It could be dangerous for Augus, it could be dangerous for the trade deal.

He hated that even now he felt a strange yearning to understand what they all shared so effortlessly, but knew it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy. Their world wasn’t his world, and Augus’ world made no sense to him.

He belonged here.

Alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning in this chapter for latent / low-key suicidal ideation (the kind that's pretty typical for Gwyn, honestly).

_Gwyn_

*

The next morning, before Wakesong, Augus came and joined Gwyn in the intimacy room. He was dressed, though his shirt was unbuttoned, and he was clearly ready to strip naked for another night of diplomacy with people who hated anything to do with clothing. Gwyn was getting used to the change in his sleeping pattern, and actually catching up on more sleep than normal. He’d never kept very regular hours in the Unseelie Court, or even his cabin.

Still, it was strange to be up before dusk and to feel like it was morning. Worse to realise that he was going to be stuck in this room all night with nothing to do, nothing but his own mind to occupy him.

He didn’t make the greatest company. He knew that better than anyone.

He looked at Augus with indifference.

‘Did you even think about what we spoke about last night?’ Augus said finally, sighing.

‘About you or your new friends _handfeeding_ me?’

‘It doesn’t have to be _that,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn was almost relieved to hear the exasperation after the forced patience. ‘It could be anything at all, provided it showed that you wanted to engage with them.’

That was just it, Gwyn wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore. He’d entered into a despair that was unyielding. He was looking forward to putting this behind him, going back to doing whatever the Raven Prince wanted – within reason – and burying himself in hunting and magical study until he died. He found he was rather looking forward to not being alive anymore.

He almost hoped Augus would get angry with him and give up. It would be best for everyone.

‘Would you share meals with them again?’ Augus said finally.

‘If it’s conditional of the diplomatic mission, then of course,’ Gwyn said blandly. ‘But you might benefit from seeking to find a way to continue your mission without me here. I’m certain you don’t need a bodyguard. You’re handling yourself with aplomb.’

‘Ah, very finely spoken,’ Augus said, rolling his eyes. ‘As passive aggressive as any courtier.’

Gwyn leaned his head back against the soft wall, lichen and moss scrunching gently beneath his head.

‘Gwyn…’

Gwyn had nothing to say.

‘You know what?’ Augus said finally, standing up. ‘If you’ve been so completely, irrevocably damaged, then that’s that, isn’t it? I didn’t realise you were so weak, but here you are, proving that not even basic intimacy is something you can handle, basic _conversation,_ even. No wonder the Raven Prince despairs of you. Perhaps you’d be happier in a kennel than among fae company.’

Gwyn didn’t even feel a spark of anger.

It was all true.

Augus stayed there in the room a little longer, then sighed heavily and walked away. Gwyn thought he might actually be happier in a kennel. He was amused at Augus’ attempt at goading. Of course Gwyn was weak. As for being damaged, Gwyn wasn’t sure that was true. Some people just weren’t meant for what others took for granted, that was all.

*

Before Mealsong, the chime beetles made their pretty chiming noise all at once and Radula Enris entered. Gwyn recognised him by the adoring way he spoke to Augus, soft and appeasing. There was a soft question in his voice, and then Gwyn sensed Augus and Enris by the doorway to the intimacy room. Gwyn didn’t bother opening his eyes.

‘It’s a sickness,’ Enris said soberly.

‘It isn’t,’ Augus said. ‘He’s just-’

‘No, it is a sickness,’ Enris said, with a firmness that surprised Gwyn. ‘Kithkalkith Kimerrin said so, after Wirth talked to them at length.’

‘And do the vench have a cure?’

Enris was silent for a time, and Gwyn kept his eyes closed. It was tempting to point out that he could hear them, but he decided it wasn’t worth it.

‘Wait,’ Enris said, a minute later, ‘all the logic puzzles. Who finished them?’

‘I did,’ Gwyn said.

‘But we gave these to you yesterday.’

‘I know,’ Gwyn said, opening his eyes. ‘They weren’t very hard.’

Truthfully, one had kept him stuck for over four hours. They were some of the most complicated wooden logic puzzles he’d ever seen. But he’d still completed them all. They gave him something to do other than the _nothing_ he occupied his time with, from night to night.

‘If you have more, I’d be grateful,’ Gwyn said.

Enris was still staring at the wooden puzzles, turning one of them in his hands, and then looking back at Gwyn. He then turned to Augus and frowned. ‘I was going to spend most of the night with my clan, but I think I have to talk to Kimerrin. They aren’t going to like so many interruptions. It’s going to make them feel polluted.’

‘Polluted?’ Augus said. ‘When you have too much contact with people outside of your own clan?’

‘Kimerrin is more sensitive to it than most. All the Kithkalkith are. That’s why they mostly keep to themselves. They don’t need any of us in the same way. I understand a little, because when I have the Radula with me, I have everything. But I am curious too, and need to have other experiences. Kimerrin likes other experiences but…only sometimes, in a very measured fashion. But…’

Enris looked at Gwyn with open fascination.

‘You said you did not find this one very hard, but you completed it. Did it take long?’

Gwyn grimaced, drawn out of his despair reluctantly. ‘It did. About four hours. It was the hardest.’

‘How long did it take you to connect the first two pieces correctly?’

‘Five minutes,’ Gwyn said.

Enris stared down at the confection of tiny wooden pieces, all of them precise and needing to be connected in a specific fashion to form the geometric shape that resulted.

‘Forgive my intrusion,’ Augus said quietly, ‘but why is this so significant?’

‘This… Being Alone-sick, it can be worsened by those with very lively minds. Even those in firm clans who are always belonging, even they can feel moments of Alone-sickness, because their minds can imagine it. What it is to be alone. Sometimes it’s easier to have a quieter mind. We have plants that can dull-’

_‘No,’_ Gwyn snapped. ‘Don’t you dare.’

Enris just nodded slowly, then finally put the logic puzzle back down on the ground. He turned and pointed towards the entrance.

‘There’s another basket for you, but no logic puzzles, for we thought you would not be done with these. We will find something else.’

‘Books, if you have them,’ Gwyn said.

‘We do not read as you do,’ Enris said. ‘Some of the others can read, but the vench have little need for it here, since we can send everything we need through touchspeak. But I will see what I can find for you. Perhaps even… Well, I’ll ask some of the other clans. If it is not beneath you, there are small, odd jobs, like seed sorting. But they require attention to detail.’

‘He has it,’ Augus said in a rush, surprising Gwyn. ‘I know from experience that he has a delicate touch and fine attention to detail.’

Enris’ pale gleaming eyes were wide. He looked between them both and then nodded.

‘I regret that we should make ourselves ready for Mealsong. It is my own fault. I have come late this morning.’

‘Is everything all right?’ Augus asked softly.

‘I am away from the Radula too much lately, sleeping with them is not enough. They have told me to spend less time… less time here, doing these jobs. But I must speak to Kimerrin today. And then I will be with my clan. As soon as they pointed it out to me, I knew I needed them. It will fix everything. Don’t worry, Augus.’

Augus smiled, and Enris smiled back, though his expression looked less genuine than it had on previous occasions. As they walked out together, Enris turned and looked at Gwyn with that fascination of before.

Then they were gone, and Gwyn made his way over to the basket and ate everything in it, pulling the bread apart in tiny morsels in order to pass the dragging passage of time.

*

Gwyn half-expected Kithkalkith Kimerrin to turn up – and was dreading it – from the way Enris had been talking. But instead, the nights continued. More logic puzzles appeared in the following evening’s basket. The evening after, Enris brought a separate, tightly woven basket filled with small grains. Enris crouched over one of the grains and squeezed it delicately until it separated from its papery husk, revealing a shiny brown bauble of grain inside.

‘The grains are very fragile,’ Enris said, placing the perfect little grain into a dish carved from translucent green and violet stone. ‘When they break, they spoil fast, so we must manually do this. Do you want to try?’

Gwyn nodded. Enris turned to Augus who was standing in the entryway, before looking at Gwyn once more.

‘I know this must seem very menial, but it is important work among the vench. Only the Splannet clan are trusted with this. But they found some extra grains and if you do well, the Splannet will be favourable.’

Gwyn nodded again. He didn’t have much to say.

Staying here was eroding something inside of him. It was hard to feel proud of his magic when he couldn’t use it, and it was difficult to feel proud of his other skills when he couldn’t use those either. At this point, he would happily work on the grains, he just hoped he could do a good job.

Enris and Augus left. Gwyn bent over the grains and studied them. They were extremely light, and he carefully squeezed the first one on his finger and had the positioning not quite right. The entire seed popped, smearing juice over his thumb and forefinger.

He took a deep breath and tried again, changing how he held it, where he positioned it on the pad of his thumb. The next one emerged whole from its little husk. Gwyn put the grain into the plate and discarded the husk.

It was slow work. He had to concentrate each time, for the tiniest increase in pressure or speed would result in split grains. They were almost more like very small berries, and the husks reminded Gwyn of gooseberries, which made him think of the times he’d foraged for them in the woods.

His mind drifted and his fingers and eyes focused on what he was doing. He was getting a feel for it, faster than before, but not truly fast. Especially given there were hundreds of grains. Gwyn knew it couldn’t have made that much food. Did the Splannet clan do this often? Was it one of their bonding activities?

Did they sit together and hull tiny grains while talking or touch-speaking? Or even fucking?

Gwyn barely understood what it was that they did, only that they did it a lot and didn’t need any fae beyond themselves because of it. The vench were entirely self-contained outside of trading, and the traders themselves were more ostracised than the rest of the vench, because they were seen as outsiders.

He had no idea what time it was once he’d finished. There were no clocks, no windows, and the temperature always stayed the same this deep in the cave system. Warmish and humid, the kind of ambient atmosphere designed to make it more comfortable to go about naked than in clothes.

Gwyn refused to give his up, and washed them every second evening in the bath. It felt like they never completely dried, but he didn’t have many other options.

He ate everything else in the basket as usual, glad that they didn’t seem to be drugging his food, at least. He curled up and slept soon after, wishing he had more of those grains to work on. It _was_ a menial sort of work, but it had been the first time he’d felt accomplished at something that wasn’t a logic puzzle. It reminded him of some of the repetitive exercises he’d had to do with his magic. Sometimes he thought the only reason he’d gotten so good at magic was that he was willing to do the drudge-work that no one else wanted to do.

*

‘This is amazing,’ a voice said, and Gwyn startled awake, gasping through his nose as he pushed upwards immediately.

‘It’s all right,’ Augus said quietly. ‘It’s just us.’

Gwyn blinked blearily at the two of them. He hadn’t realised he’d slept so heavily. He rubbed at his face, and then looked at Enris carefully swirling the crystal bowl of little grains.

‘What time is it?’ Gwyn said, his voice hoarse.

‘Evesong has already passed,’ Augus said. ‘It’s late.’

‘Oh.’

‘You’re going to ruin your sleep rhythm if you keep doing this,’ Augus said.

‘I don’t care,’ Gwyn muttered.

There wasn’t much else to do. Except be handfed, apparently.

Enris seemed oblivious to everything, swirling the grains and then picking through them with the lightest of touches.

‘The Splannet will be able to tell better, but I think… If they are happy, they will send more grains tomorrow. I will not be here tomorrow. I must spend time with my Radula. I regret that I cannot be with the both of you.’

‘You need it,’ Augus said softly.

‘Yes,’ Enris said, gently placing the bowl back into the basket, then picking it up and resting it just above his slender hip. ‘I do. But I will return in the next few nights. The Radula will know when I’m doing better, and I trust them.’

Enris bowed shallowly to Augus and Gwyn and then walked out, closing the doors behind him.

Augus stayed in the intimacy room, and then he came and sat right by Gwyn’s side, leaning his back against the wall. Gwyn wanted to ask if he’d had a lot of fun fucking whoever he’d been fucking.

Gwyn glanced at him. Augus looked tired. He felt a brief pang of guilt that he was contributing to that. But he couldn’t think of what to say. It wasn’t like pointing out that he’d done a good job hulling grains was going to mean anything at all, to anyone. It was busywork. It probably wasn’t even that important to the Splannet. Just something they did to make sure he didn’t lose his mind and explode into a fireball of magical rage.

‘I don’t often do this,’ Augus said, ‘but I owe you an apology. I lashed out in frustration last week.’

Gwyn was somewhat surprised to learn it had been a week. The nights were bleeding into one another.

‘I’m used to clients that I can help in a weekend,’ Augus said, looking down at his hands where they curled gracefully in his lap. ‘I’m used to clients giving me permission to help them, and being with someone who is…resistant to changing even a little, is frustrating for me. I accused you of many things.’

‘They’re all true,’ Gwyn said, looking ahead and feeling the weight of Augus’ gaze on the side of his face. ‘I allow that I’ve been damaged by the past. I have never professed to be strong. I know better than anyone that I’m not capable of basic intimacy. I probably would be happier in a kennel than among fae company. The Raven Prince hasn’t always despaired of me, but of late, he despairs of me more.’

‘Gwyn, I…’

But Gwyn never found out what else Augus wanted to say. Instead, one of Augus’ legs bent, he rested his wrists on his knee, tilting his head back. His hair was damp and clung to the lichen on the wall.

‘You are capable of basic intimacy,’ Augus said finally. ‘To say that you weren’t at all was cruel. You broke bread with us, you cooperate and are trying not to be hostile, you behave as a guest, never asking for more than you are given, and with a politeness that I know doesn’t always come easily to you. I treated you like you were useless, but I can see how you are trying. Even those grains, they are hard to hull, Gwyn. I tried a couple myself. It must have taken you all night. All day. Fuck knows. They call it day, it’s obviously evening.’

‘Perhaps you need a break as well, like Enris,’ Gwyn said.

‘Perhaps. They’d let me have one. They’re very sensitive to our needs, for all that they came across as so hostile in the beginning. I hardly see any of the Kithkalkith. They want nothing to do with us. Not out of hatred, they simply have…so much of what they need with each other. Their clans are so… It’s humbling to witness.’

‘Are they family based?’ Gwyn asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘Sometimes they can be, incest definitely occurs. But for the most part, their bonding just happens naturally. Vench aren’t clan affiliated when they’re born, and are cared for by nearly everyone. Over time, they feel an affiliation to a certain clan, and eventually their skin and eye colour will change and mirror the clan they love most. After that, they will be accepted into the clan and given a formal clan name. Even Kithkalkith Kimerrin was once just…Vench Kimerrin. Which is hard to imagine because everyone speaks of the Kithkalkith like a rigid certainty.’

‘I didn’t know their skin and eyes could change,’ Gwyn said.

‘Mm, neither did I. Actually I’m not sure anyone did. Apparently sometimes if a clan member loses enough contact or intimacy, they’ll fall back to more neutral vench colouring. This is what Enris is concerned about. I don’t think he’s at risk, but I also don’t know how fast it happens for them, and how much loss of intimacy it takes for it to happen.’

‘But you…both have been intimate?’

‘Very,’ Augus said frankly. ‘But he can’t speak to me by touching me, and I can’t speak to him by touching him. So he’s had some of his senses removed when he’s with me, and I think they feel…very loved, when they’re touched by their kin. In a way that most fae can only flail towards, or reach for clumsily. I can be loving towards Enris, but I don’t love him like a partner, and he doesn’t feel that beyond my touch. It’s not a dual language. I think he likes the new experience though.’

‘But it’s a form of starvation for him to choose you over being with the Radula.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘Even someone from another clan that wasn’t his own, would give him more than I could. I can see why the vench don’t have much to do with us, honestly. We must seem…very unevolved to them. Intimacy is another sense of theirs, and it’s one we struggle to have at times, and will never achieve to the same degree.’

Gwyn found that fascinating, and he wished with a sudden, fierce ache that he could be out there too, learning all of the things Augus was learning. He didn’t mind being so impoverished when it came to intimacy, if the vench thought that all fae who weren’t vench were almost the same.

‘I want to connect with you,’ Augus said. ‘I liked eating with you. I don’t think you like making general conversation, which is why when we have it, it rarely goes well. Would you share meals with me sometimes?’

‘What about Mealsong?’

‘Most of the vench who know me, and know of you, will understand that I’m spending some time breaking bread with you. They’ll consider it a form of necessary intimacy, especially since so many know that you’re…starved of it.’

‘And you really think that’s the case?’

‘I’m not going to be baited into an argument where you get me to express my concern, just so you can tell me how well you’re doing. I’ve told you what I want. Will you grant me the honour of that connection? Will you eat with me tomorrow?’

‘No handfeeding,’ Gwyn said.

‘No,’ Augus said. But he smiled all the same. ‘Forgive me if I ask you tomorrow morning if you’d like to try it.’

Gwyn pursed his lips but didn’t say anything at all. Asking wasn’t forcing, and if Augus considered his lashing out to be the sort of behaviour warranting an apology…

Well, it wasn’t like the Raven Prince had ever apologised for a single one of his sharp words. It was a novelty.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘I’ll break bread with you.’

‘Thank you,’ Augus said. ‘Are you going to sleep in here again?’

‘I… Yes,’ Gwyn said. It hadn’t occurred to him that Augus still wanted him to sleep on the bed. He’d thought they’d found a comfortable arrangement.

Augus stood up, stretched quietly, stroking his fingers over his hair to settle it back into place. ‘All right. Well. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ Gwyn said quietly, even though it was approaching dawn.

*

Gwyn was already awake when Augus woke the next morning. There was no food for them to share yet. Augus went to have a long shower, and when the chime beetles sounded, Gwyn realised there was no one else to open the door.

He got up reluctantly and went to the doors. He opened the first one with its inner soundproofing webbing, and then the harder door that looked like it was made from tough bamboo-like reeds. He half-expected to see Enris, even stepped back for Enris to enter.

‘Greetings!’ said Crystlik Enita. She’d been the very first to show them to their room. ‘I have brought food and refreshments, as well as more of the sweetgrain that was hulled yesterday. The Splannet were very pleased at the results, as you can see, you have been given much more.’

Gwyn took the baskets carefully. There was at least four times as much grain, and the gemstone bowl this time was deep. He thought it might be made of the same tourmaline as the last one.

‘I cannot finish this in a day,’ Gwyn said softly.

‘You are not expected to! I fear they have become quite excited.’

‘Do you wish to come in?’ Gwyn said.

‘Oh no,’ Enita said, her dark green eyes blinking owlishly with a third, thin membrane passing over them. She shook her head to emphasise her point. ‘I will wait outside for Augus. The Mostons will be spending time with him today.’

It was only then that Gwyn realised the vench never left once they’d brought food with them, which meant if Gwyn was going to share a meal with Augus, it would have to be later. He felt a wave of disappointment, he was sure Augus had said it would happen in the morning. At the time, he’d thought Augus meant when they woke. But perhaps he meant the literal morning. They were going to have to discuss how they talked about their days and nights here.

Only a few minutes later, Augus emerged and smiled when he saw Enita. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed, and instead walked straight to the entrances.

‘May I speak with you privately for a moment?’ Augus said softly.

‘Yes, of course. I hope I am a respectable replacement for Radula Enris.’

‘It is welcome to spend time with any of the Crystlik once more, you are all such fine traders.’

Enita’s green mottles flashed. She smiled at Gwyn, and then she and Augus headed out. They were gone for a time, and when Augus returned he was alone. Gwyn watched through the doorway as Augus walked towards the bed and picked up a shirt and pants, and dressed. When he entered the intimacy room, he carried both baskets, the one with food and the one with sweetgrain.

‘I hope in the future, you can come out with us to Mealsong,’ Augus said, as he sat by Gwyn’s side and placed the basket that contained food in his lap. ‘There’s a wider variety of foods for a start, though they don’t seem to favour any meat.’

‘That must be good for you,’ Gwyn said.

‘It is,’ Augus said, sounding surprised that Gwyn knew he only ate plant matter when he wasn’t feasting on humans in the human realm. ‘They have different spices and saps than what I’m used to.’

‘Is it all drugged?’

‘A lot of it, yes,’ Augus said. ‘They warn me which ones have the strongest concentrations of aphrodisiacs, since they’ve learned I like the option to avoid those. Everything else tends to be very mild, easy to ignore. It’s not quite what I was expecting. They made a curry that made me startlingly aware of my body, but I didn’t feel like being with anyone that day, so instead I was simply…more connected to myself. They would see that as a form of intimacy, so they were pleased.’

Augus handed Gwyn one of the bread rolls, then broke his own in half. He handed one of the halves to Gwyn.

Gwyn realised it was the ritual of before, and he accepted, then handed half of his back to Augus.

‘Do I give you the other half too?’ Gwyn said softly.

‘If you want. The vench would. The idea is that your bread should always be made of the bread of others. Even vench that don’t want bread will take some, just to enjoy the exchange.’

Gwyn handed over the other half of his bread, and was left with Augus’ split roll at the end. He tore a piece of the soft inside out and started eating.

After days of hardly any contact or stimulation at all, spending time sharing food with Augus made Gwyn feel so relieved that it was almost emotional. He hadn’t realised that he’d felt so neglected, which was silly, since he was alone so often. He almost never shared meals with the Raven Prince, who was a fussy, picky eater and preferred to eat on his own, or even on the wing, flying to where Gwyn could never follow him.

‘I don’t actually like bread,’ Augus said, halfway through finishing one of his halves. Gwyn looked at him, and Augus was smiling. The expression flattered his features.

‘So why eat it?’

‘It’s polite, I suppose,’ Augus said. ‘What the vench make is more palatable than most, at least to me. But goodness, they don’t give you many options, do they? I’ll talk to them.’

‘Don’t inconvenience yourself.’

‘Trust me, they would leap at a chance to help you feel more comfortable. At least some. Others hang onto the idea that you believe yourself to be superior to everyone and are rejecting them, but those who have met you can see…that it’s complicated.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Gwyn said quietly, eating slowly.

‘The Raven Prince, he is an incredible King and Mage, but I’m not sure he’s an incredible father.’

Gwyn smiled, almost laughed. ‘Fatherhood… I remember once asking him if he was my father when I was very small. Perhaps four or five.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said, ‘Young man, I am a raven.’ And then he flew away.’

‘Ah,’ Augus said, a smile in his voice. ‘Subtle.’

‘I think I cried, at the time. One of the others in his Court, I think perhaps Fluri, she came and took me and gave me some magical task or other to focus on. She was maternal to her own children, but I don’t think she wanted to interfere with the Raven Prince’s goals for me. They all sort of treated me like his experiment.’

‘Do you think it would have been better if you’d stayed with your Seelie family?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t know. They hated me for existing, for being Unseelie. It’s not like I had any choice in my alignment.’

‘And of course there aren’t really any records of fae being wards of the Court quite like this.’

‘Mm,’ Gwyn said, and then swallowed his bite and looked at Augus. The line of Augus’ nose was very straight, and his cheekbones were defined, smatterings of freckles faint, but visible all the same. ‘Well. There are records, but a lot of the time those fae are adopted provisionally by the Court, then adopted into another fae family.’

‘But not you.’

‘Not me,’ Gwyn said.

‘Even I have family,’ Augus said.

‘Though you’re not supposed to.’

‘Well, Each Uisge aren’t that…paternal, I suppose. I certainly wasn’t as a child! But I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. He was so woeful and pathetic.’

‘Wouldn’t that make the _fearsome_ and _monstrous_ Each Uisge want to kill him more?’

Augus laughed softly. ‘I did at first. But he had this… I don’t know. Oh, I suppose he was charming in his own way. I used to think something about him ruptured something in me, or weakened some darkness, but now I don’t know. Perhaps I was always more sympathetic than any Each Uisge that existed before me. Or perhaps they were all capable of this connection, and simply never had the opportunity.’

‘Do you miss him?’

‘Not really,’ Augus said. ‘We’re both adults, I very much want my lake to be _my lake._ I miss… I miss spending time with him and laughing with him, but I don’t feel that pang regularly. I can go about two or three months without seeing him before I’ll start missing him. And then, yes, I miss him. Ash is, well, you’d hate him, I suspect.’

‘I’ve heard the rumours,’ Gwyn said. ‘Jovial, merry, fun, mischievous.’

‘Drunk,’ Augus said drily.

‘Of course, how could I forget?’

‘Likely he’s drunk right now.’

Gwyn smiled at the thought. ‘I don’t think I’d hate him because he likes to have a good time. I don’t hate _fun.’_

‘You hate it a little bit,’ Augus said. ‘I don’t think you trust what it is to feel…good about something.’

Gwyn turned that over as they lapsed back into silence. He knew there was some truth to it. He wished it weren’t true, but he’d never been the kind of fae to laugh freely or easily. He’d always been suspicious, even paranoid, and sometimes that paranoia had paid off. He bent his fingers slowly, remembering the way Taronis had gripped them before his light had flayed the flesh from his skin. No, he spent his life rarely trusting anything or anyone, and without trust, it was impossible to feel good about anything at all.

The forest was the only place he could settle into himself.

‘You agree with me,’ Augus said.

‘I do,’ Gwyn said.

‘I thought you’d fight me. Disagree.’

‘I _could,’_ Gwyn said, arching a stern eyebrow in Augus’ direction. ‘I can be quite the contrarian, even if I happen to agree with the person I’m disagreeing with.’

‘Believe me, I know.’

Gwyn sighed. ‘But no, there’s no point disagreeing. This diplomatic adventure has certainly highlighted my profound lacks as a person.’

‘I don’t know,’ Augus said quietly. ‘This is intimate, isn’t it? We’re sitting side by side, talking quietly, sharing food. By vench standards, this would be nourishing to them.’

‘Really? They’d feed off this alone?’

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘Obviously not in the same way they feed upon shared touch, but this is still…important. Isn’t it? We’re not arguing. I like your company when you’re like this.’

‘You don’t have to lie to me.’

‘I’m not,’ Augus said. ‘You’re interesting. Though now I wonder if you’re tired of people finding you interesting.’

Gwyn shrugged. ‘It was why the Raven Prince decided to keep me.’

‘But interesting… Ah, I don’t quite know how to say it. I’ll try again later. Now, let’s try an equal exchange. How about you feed me one piece of bread, and I feed you one, and we’ll call it even for the day.’

Augus did it so easily that Gwyn almost agreed just to keep up the equable tone between them. Instead, he thought it over. It was so tempting to give a kneejerk denial, but this felt less about something he was doing just to make the vench like him.

‘I get to feed you a piece as well?’ Gwyn said finally.

‘It’s only fair,’ Augus said, turning so that his side was leaning into the wall. ‘Don’t you think that’s fair?’

‘Maybe,’ Gwyn said, looking down at the rest of his bread roll. ‘So do I just…? Do it?’

‘If you’d like to.’

Gwyn didn’t know what he wanted to do. Just the thought of it made him feel unaccountably nervous. He tore off a piece of bread, longer than normal, because he wasn’t sure he wanted Augus’ mouth touching his fingers. And then he stared down at the bread. His arms and legs felt chilled, despite the warm humidity of the place, but he didn’t want to ruin the morning, and Augus had taken time away from Mealsong specifically for this.

Gwyn turned and searched Augus’ green gaze, before lifting the piece of bread. Augus didn’t look away from him as Gwyn brushed it against his mouth. Augus’ lips parted slowly, he bit into the bread without his mouth touching Gwyn’s fingers, but Gwyn still felt his breath, the moist heat from the inside of his mouth on his fingertips. And then the bread was gone and Augus was chewing, looking pleased, and Gwyn’s hand dropped back to his lap.

‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Augus said, after swallowing.

Augus tore off a piece of bread, shorter and thicker, and then lifted his hand. Gwyn didn’t mean to flinch backwards, and he knew Augus must have noticed, but Augus didn’t react. Unlike Gwyn, he didn’t push the bread towards Gwyn’s mouth, he didn’t brush it against Gwyn’s lips. Instead he left it there between them, so that Gwyn had to choose to lean in and take it.

Gwyn had never done anything like this before. But he’d been asked to do far harder things throughout his life, and now that it had come down to it, he found himself leaning forwards. He didn’t look at Augus, he didn’t want to look at anything at all, but it would be stupid if he closed his eyes.

He took the bread between his lips. He’d misjudged the space, his lips closing around Augus’ fingertips, even though his teeth only touched the bread. But Augus didn’t do anything, and he let go of the bread easily and then withdrew his hand. He didn’t take advantage of the situation, and he didn’t tear off any more bread for him, and he didn’t mock him or make fun of him or even smirk.

Gwyn chewed and swallowed, feeling uncertain.

‘Thank you,’ Augus said quietly.

‘I don’t know how to do that in front of the others,’ Gwyn said roughly, feeling ashamed to admit it. But it felt far too important to just…do around everyone else. Which was ridiculous since they obviously did it all the time.

‘That’s all right,’ Augus said. ‘Perhaps we could do this again some time? It wasn’t terrible, I presume?’

‘I suppose not,’ Gwyn said, looking back at the rest of his bread roll, and then continuing to eat. He felt like the bread tasted different when it was held in Augus’ fingers, which was absurd.

About thirty minutes later, they’d finished eating and Augus got up and said that he should probably get going. He promised to find Gwyn some more food to make up for what he ate from the basket, and then left, stripping down before he left their small, temporary cave home.

Gwyn reached for the basket of unhulled sweetgrain, and for the rest of the day, thought of very little else except for how Augus’ fingertips had felt against his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

_Gwyn_

*

He spent his time over the next two days hulling grains. It was a slow, gruelling task, and he took to pacing between Augus’ bedroom, the intimacy room and the bathroom, stretching his arms and fingers out, because this kind of piecework reminded him of how laborious it had been to sew his Master Mage motley. It put him in mind of the vench’s magic. He felt it often, but he hadn’t seen any open displays of it. He thought it was a shame that they were known to wear counterfeit Master Mage motleys, it was asking for trouble. He didn’t like how the School of the Staff responded by murdering anyone who wore them, but he also didn’t understand why the vench would do such a thing, knowing how the School of the Staff reacted.

Augus came back at the end of a long night with the vench and sleepily said that he’d talk about it some time, then collapsed onto his bed. He smelled only faintly of sex.

The next day they ate together in the morning, sharing bread – though Gwyn wasn’t in the mood to handfeed or be handfed – and Augus seemed pleased to see more food in the basket.

‘When do you need to feed your true appetite?’ Augus said curiously.

‘Soon,’ Gwyn said, looking aside. He didn’t like talking to people about it. His appetite was so crude. He wished he’d been born with the ability to eat language, like his King. But instead he ate life. He could do it easily and he could do it well, but it still felt like something unnatural, something that reminded him that there were upper worlds and under worlds, something that reminded him of lands of the dead.

And why should he be connected to them in the first place? Had some god designated it? What made him a psychopomp, but not other common fae? And why a psychopomp at all?

He’d found other psychopomps to talk to about it, but none of them seemed to have ever given it much thought, and clearly found him unusual for wondering in the first place. When Gwyn had brought up his confusion over the way other fae reacted, the Raven Prince merely shrugged.

‘You haven’t noticed? Most fae have an inability to consider the upper worlds or under worlds properly. They cannot properly consider gods or even the existence of psychopomps. There is something here,’ the Raven Prince said, pointing to his mind, his black eyes flashing. ‘It stops them from giving it due thought.’

‘That lends credence to my theory that something is amiss.’

‘Only if you think it is amiss for those above and below us to mess with those of us who exist in the middle. I do not. There are tricksters in every realm.’

But because fae struggled to think of their lands of the dead, even Unseelie fae were uneasy around him. They treated him as though he was a shark among the fish, and with far more twitchiness than they would around other fae who ate fae. There was something about _him,_ something about his ability, and it was like they could not only poorly consider other worlds, but they could barely consider him.

There had been exceptions, of course, but Gwyn sometimes walked into the throne room in a grumpy mood, looking for his King, and every courtier there would stop and stare at him and wonder if he was _hunting._ Like he ever would hunt where the Raven Prince lived.

Even if he had thought about it because he was spiteful.

‘Perhaps in a week or so,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘I can go longer, but I will become less…able to monitor my reactions.’

‘Do you think hunger is why you’ve been reacting…the way you’ve been reacting since we’ve come here?’

Gwyn’s smile was bitter. ‘Ah, if only that were the case. What, do you think I’ll sup on the life of some fae and send their soul on, and then somehow, magically, I’ll be kind? Sweet? Nice?’

Augus’ responding smile was genuinely amused. ‘You can’t blame me for considering it.’

‘I can’t even imagine what that would look like,’ Gwyn said, feeling something very like genuine good humour creep into his chest, warm and small.

‘Heavens forfend, but neither can I. Even when I imagine you as a very small child, I imagine someone who is constantly scowling, his eyes narrowed, always ready to poke the Raven Prince in the shin with a sharp little stick.’

Gwyn laughed softly, and he opened his mouth to respond, then saw the way Augus’ expression shifted and became withdrawn and troubled.

‘But of course that’s not quite how it went, is it?’ Augus said.

It was _rude,_ the way Augus did this. The way he brought up Oxcillian. It might be oblique, but it was there all the same.

‘I am not eating food from you today,’ Gwyn said coldly. _Or ever again,_ he thought.

‘No, I apologise,’ Augus said, and Gwyn considered him in surprise. Augus only shrugged. ‘It is my way to needle. I’m ever so used to needing to do it to clients, because I only have a short time with them. You might be surprised to learn that while I have very many acquaintances, and can acquit myself well when it comes to civility and – perhaps – diplomacy, I do not have many friends.’

That did surprise Gwyn. He’d assumed that Augus spent all his spare time with people who were intelligent and graceful and beautiful. All of them smooth talkers, all of them able to laugh and make snide jokes about people they looked down upon.

‘It is that I want to talk to you about it,’ Augus said, standing and stretching languidly, ‘but that I cannot because of how you react. And yet the urge spills over anyway, and so I needle. I’m certain it’s among my worst qualities.’

‘I don’t know why you wish to talk about it,’ Gwyn said, wary.

‘I know,’ Augus said, appearing sad. ‘Likely, you think it a trap.’

That was exactly what Gwyn thought it was. But then Augus walked away and stripped and made ready to leave for the day, and Gwyn went back to his task of hulling the tiny seeds and trying to burst none of them.

*

A few hours later, the beetles chimed and Gwyn looked up in surprise. No one had ever visited during the day once Augus had left. He got up and carefully set down the seeds, and then walked to the double doors, opening them both. A new vench stood before him, from no clan Gwyn recognised. Their skin was yellow-green, their eyes the colour of fresh grass, and their long yellow hair was plaited back and decorated with vines. They looked at Gwyn consideringly and then raised their hands.

_I am Splannet Odayi. I am she. You are the one hulling our sweetgrain?_ she signed.

Gwyn nodded and signed an agreement.

_May I see how you are doing?_ Odayi said.

Gwyn nodded again and then stepped back, apprehensive. He wasn’t sure how this worked when Augus wasn’t here, and he wasn’t sure of the protocol, either. But she stepped smoothly into the room, looked around, and then didn’t seem to know what to do until Gwyn pointed her in the direction on the intimacy room.

She found the basked of hulled grains immediately and crouched by them, teasing the grains with delicate, soft fingers. She made a low hissing sound, which Gwyn knew was a sound of pleasure. He felt warm then, and wondered if they’d let him keep doing this kind of work. As she turned to him, she placed the bowl down.

_You are doing well. Almost as good as a Splannet._

He knelt before the bowl. _What can I do better?_ he signed.

_Let time teach you. Your fingers learn as you go. These are good, but some are a little bruised. You cannot feel the imperfections yet. And they are still useable._

She was right. Gwyn couldn’t feel any imperfections at all in the grains he’d dropped into the bowl. He thought they were all completely whole, and they looked round and shiny to him. To his eyes and his fingers, there were only whole and burst grains.

_We are surprised you will do this work,_ she signed.

_It’s satisfying to do,_ he said with his hands. _It’s challenging but not impossible, it requires concentration, which gives me a way to pass the day._

Her expression shifted, and Gwyn couldn’t read it. After a while she looked down at the bowl, like she was steeling herself.

Then she signed: _We have talked much, and wish to show you something else you might do. We know you are Alone-sick, and this might help._

Gwyn frowned. _I have not passed your test of intimacy. I cannot._

She made a chirping sound that dissolved into multiple trills – which made Gwyn wonder if she had more than one place to vocalise in her throat.

_They have said you like animals,_ she said.

Gwyn frowned, and then remembered that when he, Augus, Bracken, Wirth and Enris had the communal breakfast together, Gwyn had said he was never alone in a forest because animals were there. He wasn’t aware of just how far his words were being spread, and he didn’t much like it, either. But he supposed of all the things he’d said that she could have brought back to him, that one wasn’t offensive at all.

_I do,_ he signed.

_Then this is something you might also like,_ she said, standing and smiling. She pointed with one elongated finger to the exit. _Will you come?_

Gwyn thought it over. Maybe it was stupid to do something like this without Augus, but he didn’t know the vench kept any animals at all. He was curious, and if anything bad happened, he could ultimately defend himself with his magic or teleport away. The lure of just going beyond the room and seeing more of vench culture dug deep into him, and he nodded. Just to be safe he said:

_You honour me with the opportunity._

She smiled more broadly at him, and her glittery green eyes looked like they flashed a couple of times.

They left together, and she didn’t ask him to remove his clothing. They walked down corridors that echoed and clamoured no matter how Gwyn tried to keep his steps silent. Even a single drip of water from the wet cave walls set off a chain reaction of louder and louder dripping sounds around them.

She didn’t turn back to look at him, and she walked slowly. At one point, they passed a vench Gwyn didn’t recognise, and they stared at Gwyn and his clothing with wide eyes, until Odiya made a point of stopping and flashing some kind of hand gesture. The vench hurried away, eyes downcast.

_I apologise,_ she signed. _That you and the other are here will remain a novelty for many years yet. They are not used to you._

_It’s all right. I understand,_ Gwyn replied.

She nodded, but she didn’t look pleased, and he wondered if they were a culture of people who didn’t like untoward gazes in the first place. Which seemed strange, given they went about naked all the time and shared their bodies with each other. Maybe she was ashamed to be seen with him. Gwyn decided that made far more sense.

Eventually the corridors stopped echoing, the floor beneath their feet matted thickly with a strange springy moss. They came to a large door marked with a yellow-green sigil. Odayi pushed the door open, along with a second webbed door, and nodded a greeting to a vench who had the same colouring as her.

Splannet territory? Was that it? Gwyn stared around in amazement and then remembered that might be taken as rudeness, and kept his head down. Here the earth felt warmer, and the corridors were narrower, the stone dark. The phosphorescence here was less bright, the uneven path dimmer. Gwyn had to concentrate to make sure he didn’t stumble as his eyes adjusted.

Odayi talked to several other Splannet in chirps, trills and broad double-notes that rose or fell in intricate patterns. It was clear that her signing was a concession to Gwyn, and that she likely couldn’t talk many languages except her own. He listened and tried to stay as respectfully silent as possible.

After a few minutes, she led him down shorter corridors. The smells of cooking and stewing increased. The oddly rancid scent of fermentation overlaid with a thick odour of caramelised sweetness, the astringence of greens or herbs.

As they kept walking, Gwyn felt the magic levels increase in the walls. Abruptly they turned hostile and he almost stumbled. Magic embedded in the floors, the ceilings, the rocks all around them, and Gwyn could feel that the magic didn’t _want_ him here, and that it was somehow alert and watching him, like a dog that sat with a preternatural calm by a fence. A hound that didn’t need to pace protectively back and forth, because it was incredibly sure of its ability to destroy.

His breathing grew shallower, fear prickled inside of him. It was strong magic. Very strong. And it was the magic of many, not just one, which would make it unpredictable.

This was magic that would respond to his magic with aggression. He pulled his own magic more tightly to him. Even that created a prickling sensation over his skin, like the caves _knew._

He was about to ask about it, when a huge wooden door was pushed open and Gwyn stepped into a cavern like none of the others he’d seen so far.

It was a cylindrical chamber with broad ledges that spiralled upwards to a pale spot in the distant ceiling – what must have been the sky, Gwyn realised. It was so far up that even the night sky looked bright. A cool breeze flowed down and clung to the slippery, rocky floors beneath his feet. A smell of buttery sweetness permeated the space.

And all along ledges, pressed closely to the walls were giant bee-like insects with vestigial wings. Gwyn had seen smaller feists and even smaller hounds, these came up past his knees. They were banded in black and gold, impossibly fuzzy, and from the rear of their abdomens they grew what looked like a backward curving horn with a glimmer of clear fluid at the tips of some of them.

The magic embedded in this place was dizzying.

_These are our ashran,_ said Odayi with her hands. She shaped the letters for ashran first, so that Gwyn could sound it out in his head, and then she made another sign that was obviously what they used to indicate the ashran in general. _They are sacred, and they are fundamental to who we are as vench. They give us sugar and sometimes warmth._

Gwyn nodded, looking around in awe. This place had to be a hive. And he couldn’t begin to count them all, resting on the ledges along the blue-grey walls, curving all the way up to that point in the sky.

_A note,_ Odayi said soberly. _The magic here is unforgiving, for we must protect that which we care for. You cannot use any of your magic here safely. For any reason._

_I haven’t used my magic since arriving,_ he said.

She looked at him oddly – Gwyn was certain she didn’t believe him – and then walked to a series of clean glass vases with narrowed necks and bulbed bases. She picked one up and walked over to the lowest ledge of ashran. She gestured Gwyn to come closer and watch what she was doing.

She placed the glass vessel on the back of one of the ashran – it was large enough and fluffy enough that it didn’t seem to register the weight at all. She positioned the opening of the jar beneath the tip of that horn, and then with a single stroke of her hand at the base of the horn, beads of clear nectar appeared and dropped into the jar. It wasn’t quite honey, it hadn’t thickened enough for that, but Gwyn could smell the increased sweetness in the air.

She stroked the horn several more times until no more drops of nectar fell, and then moved the glass vessel off its back and reached out and petted its fuzzy head.

Then she handed the jar to Gwyn, who took it automatically.

_You will try,_ she said.

Gwyn stared at her, shocked at the level of trust this suggested. This was nothing like simply hulling sweetgrain, and he could tell from the magic here – magic that _hated_ him – this was…

He didn’t even know if she was allowed to invite him to do this. But the other Splannet knew he was here. So they must have known.

He was about to put the glass down and ask if she was sure, but she had a bright, determined gaze and he could tell she wouldn’t appreciate being questioned.

Hesitantly, he walked to the next ashran and examined the bee-creature. It was definitely an insect. It was certainly some kind of bee, from the eyes, to the antennae, to the fuzzy fur and the pretty black and orange-yellow banding. He placed the vessel carefully on its back, felt the thick heavy sturdiness of its body. He looked at the creature’s face, but it stared ahead, and Gwyn had no idea if it was enjoying itself, if it liked this home.

And then he placed his hand at the base of the horn – which really did feel like it was made of horn and wasn’t at all soft – and felt it quiver beneath his touch. He stroked up along it and beads of nectar appeared, dropping into the vessel. The bee seemed to sigh beneath him as he stroked. At the end, he gave one more stroke where it tensed and no fluid appeared at the tip, and he realised it didn’t like the stimulation unless it had nectar to give.

He removed the vessel, and then like Odayi, he reached out and carefully scratched the fur at the top of the ashran’s head. And the ashran made some kind of deep buzzing sound that was too low for Gwyn to hear properly, but he could feel it through his hand and feet, and realised it was satisfied.

When he turned and looked at Odayi, she simply gestured for him to walk to the next ashran and keep going. And as he placed the glass container on its back, he saw her get another vessel for herself, and walk to a different section of the ledge.

They worked quietly together. Odayi sometimes made low trills to some of the ashran, and he couldn’t decide if that was because they were her favourites, or she was trying to encourage more nectar out of them.

Gwyn learned that the ashran had personalities. Some were reluctant to give up their nectar and needed a lot of stroking, and others seemed to spill the sugary fluid as soon as the vessel was placed upon their back. Some didn’t stop eating the fungus that grew on the walls, and didn’t seem to care what was happening. Some buzzed lazily and happily when he scratched their heads, one clacked its jaws threateningly, others didn’t react at all.

There was one on a higher ledge that leaned its whole heavy body into Gwyn’s thighs, buzzing continuously, and he felt an unfurling of affection for it. He’d known animals that did the same in the woods. Deer who pressed against him looking for scratches, a badger that was convinced Gwyn’s feet were a perfect scratching post. He laughed softly, in quiet delight, and the ashran buzzed the entire time.

When he petted it at the end, he was reluctant to leave it. But the glass vessel was full, and he understood these creatures possibly had to be milked every day, and there were many more to see to.

He turned with the full vessel, and Odayi was smiling at him, holding her own vessel. She indicated with her head that he should follow her. The ledges of the spiral in the cavern were incredibly slippery, and every step he took had to be exceedingly careful. He couldn’t move quickly at all. He didn’t know if it was algae that grew on the rocks here, or something else, but Odayi seemed to have no problems with it. Meanwhile Gwyn had visions of himself slipping and falling many metres onto the ground, only for the vase of nectar to shatter all over himself.

Back on the floor of the cavern, she opened a trapdoor and poured her vessel of nectar into the tube that flowed from it, and indicated Gwyn should do the same. She set her used vessel against the wall, and Gwyn placed his next to hers.

_They get cleaned often,_ she said. _The nectar is purified. It is the only sugar we use. We do not trade for our sugar. We do not take it from the land above._

Gwyn smiled in spite of himself. He’d been raised around Mages who believed something was rightfully theirs if they were clever enough to steal it. The Raven Prince was only one of many with magpie-like minds that saw something they coveted and then believed it was theirs because they wanted it. And while he thought the vench would be – in other circumstances – all too easy to take advantage of, he found himself appreciating the way in which they worked with their circumstances.

_That last ashran was very friendly,_ Gwyn said.

Odayi nodded, though automatically raised her hands, signing ‘ashran’ again, to correct a misalignment of Gwyn’s fingers. He repeated the sign back to her a few more times until she nodded in satisfaction.

_Yes,_ she said. _That is Tobly. His egg was never well-formed and he was coddled in his early years. He gives much nectar, but at night he doesn’t stay with the hive, he comes to sleep with our clan and then joins the hive at dusk._

Gwyn found that amazing, since the ashran seemed like they were planted in this cavern for life. Of course they’d move around, or have their own lives. He looked at the cylindrical cave again with new appreciation.

Were there many other animals like this who lived among the vench? This indicated an entire ecosystem of interactions he’d never heard of. Possibly even whole groups of animals that no one except the vench knew about.

_You have shown me much trust,_ Gwyn said finally. _I am humbled._

Odayi watched him like she wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. But then she nodded and walked over to the glass vessels.

_Do you like our ashran?_ she signed, before picking up a new vessel.

Gwyn nodded. _Yes,_ he said. _Yes, very much._

They kept working through the rest of the evening. It wasn’t strenuous work, though the walks down the spiralling ledge became longer and longer as Gwyn went to fetch new vases. He wanted to ask why they didn’t keep vases at the top as well, but they must have had their reasons, and the walking was good for him. Odayi was quiet, industrious company, and he liked that she didn’t seem to be competing with him, and was matching his slow pace. But maybe that was so she could make sure he tipped all of the nectar gathered into the trapdoor, because she was always by his side when it happened.

He never quite became accustomed to the magic in all the walls, the floors. This place would sooner have pushed him out, even if the ashran didn’t mind him and Odayi had invited him here. But it was easier than before to keep his magic locked up. He hadn’t used it in so long.

When they were done, she showed him back to his room, quiet and clearly happy to enjoy the silence. He wondered if she talked more when she was touching other Splannet, if – for her – language was easiest when it was skin to skin. And he felt a burst of sadness that he would never understand that language. That it wasn’t something any other fae were capable of learning in the same way, and even if other fae could learn it, something in him had broken a long time ago, and he likely couldn’t even if he tried.

By the door into his and Augus’ living space, she paused.

_Tomorrow you will hull sweetgrain,_ she said. _But the next day we will come fetch you to milk the ashran, if you are willing?_

Gwyn nodded. He realised that the vench called their nights ‘days.’ It was that or there had been a mistranslation somewhere along the line. It didn’t matter. He was thinking of them as days too, even though the sun was yet to rise. He’d almost fully adjusted to the shift in his sleeping patterns.

_I will come,_ he said.

She looked at him for a long time, and then nodded once, before turning and walking back down the corridor.

Gwyn let himself into their caverns and Augus was already there, standing and clearly concerned, fingers laced together as he stopped in what looked to be agitated pacing.

‘They didn’t tell you they were taking me today,’ Gwyn said, thinking they needed a better way of communicating.

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘You were just…not here.’

‘A member of the Splannet took me to milk their bees,’ Gwyn said.

Probably one of the stranger sentences he’d said in his lifetime, which was saying something, given his experiences at the School of the Staff.

Augus’ eyes widened. ‘You met the _ashran?’_

‘They’re just bees,’ Gwyn said. ‘But they can’t fly. And they’re very big.’

_And sweet,_ he thought.

‘Gwyn- You- That’s like the Raven Prince letting me into the Unseelie treasury.’

‘They were very well protected,’ Gwyn agreed. ‘But it was just milking. It was very kind of them to trust me with that.’

Augus’ smile was faintly incredulous. ‘I hope you expressed gratitude.’

‘I did,’ he said, clearing his throat. He felt strange for not having spoken all day, even though he spent most of his days not speaking among the vench, with no one around and very little to do. ‘I tried. They have said I can do it again. But I’m back on sweetgrain duty tomorrow.’

‘Well then,’ Augus said, sitting on the bed. ‘Will you tell me about it? What was it like?’

Gwyn turned to the intimacy room. He was so used to vanishing in there. And then he hesitated. He so rarely had anything to _say._ The Raven Prince didn’t like hearing from him unless he was reporting on a fulfilled task, and Gwyn didn’t have people he could chat to freely and easily.

So he sat down on the ground by the wall and looked uncertainly at Augus, before starting to talk about his day, Odayi, and the ashran that had accepted him with more ease than almost anyone else he met in his life.


End file.
